


Anyway You Want It

by AParisianShakespearean



Series: Dragon Age AUs [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, F/M, Fake Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Reunions, It's going to take a bit for the sex, Language, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mages and Templars, Modern AU, Multi, Road Trips, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, hehehe sorry :p
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:39:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: After a few missed opportunities and realizations about her messed up life, Lydia wants to use her new blank slate for some good.After screwing up royally and needing to find a new path, Cullen wants nothing more than to breeze through his own existence.But after he tells the fib that his new roommate is actually his new girlfriend, Lydia realizes she has nothing better to do over the summer, and decides to just go with it. But no one told her that “just going with it” would include a bunch of mishaps, road trips, or those pesky things called “feelings."A story of awkward flirting, romance, and feels, told in Modern Thedas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my new fic, where I attempt to write a modern AU in a longer format. Hope you enjoy :P Rated E for later chapters.

**Roommate Wanted**

_Three roommates currently seeking a fourth. Must be okay with large mabari and large messes, not necessarily made by the mabari. None of us cook, hope you’re all right with lots of takeout. (Unless you are willing to cook for us, in that case, please, please contact.) Sorry, you have to share a bathroom, but you get your own room. It’s pretty big. We’re nice, and not “nice guy” nice if that was your impression. If interested, text or call Rylen or Barris._

Large mabari and large messes not necessarily made by the mabari, and a guarantee they weren’t “nice guys?” That was one sure fire way to let everyone know they were, indeed, nice guys. They may as well have made sure to tell everyone they weren’t serial killers while they were at it. Didn’t seem like it would be a match, so Lydia continued scanning the bulletin board. But after a few minutes of scanning, she sighed when she came up empty. It seemed luck wasn’t in her favor. Just like there were no ads in the paper from other students seeking roommates, there were no notices for other students at Kirkwall University’s bulletin board, save one. Any other week, there would have been a billion post it notes and messages demanding and asking for extra roommates, but not the week she needed it most. Of course summer was about to begin, and people generally left the town for the summer, unless they signed up for summer school. Lydia was one such person who didn’t, but between the choices of staying in town or going back home, there was no other way. She had to stay. Then again, she really didn’t have much of a choice.

And as far as staying went, there was only one option available to her: the nice guys known as Rylen, Barris, and the third unnamed person in their trio. Lydia would have to call them, and see if they were at least tolerable enough for her to make their trio a quartet.

She took her phone out, wondering if she should text or call. She was leaning towards calling, but stopped when she thought of what they may say when they heard her voice. They might have been looking for another guy. They didn’t specify in the notice though, so maybe they didn’t care. For all she knew as well, the other roommate may have been a female. She sort of hoped they were. Not that living with three men would be that irritating, so long as their “messes” weren’t as bad as the notice made them out to be, and they really were just plain nice guys, and _that_ type of nice guy. Or maybe she was thinking about it too much. Or maybe they had filled the spot already, making all her points and possible grievances moot.

She had nothing to lose. Bracing herself, she dialed Rylen’s number.

It took three rings before he picked up. “Speak,” he said, in what Lydia knew to be a Starkhaven accent. Interesting already.

“Hi,” Lydia said, finding a nearby bench and sitting herself down. “My name is Lydia. I’m a student from the university, and I saw your notice. I was wondering if you were still looking for an extra roommate?”

“Haven’t been looking for long. We just put up the notice.”

“Well…” she began, drawing her words out, “umm, I was wondering, if you would mind…maybe…?”

“No lass, we don’t mind having a female as our fourth,” Rylen said, rather drolly.

“Lass?” Lydia repeated. “You know Rylen, I’m not getting a ‘nice guy’ vibe from you.”

She heard his chuckling. “Fair point. Sorry. You won’t hear any lip from me anymore. Unless you want it.”

“We’ll see.”

“Ooh, alright then.” He chuckled again. “You’re more than willing to come by, see if you like the place. We’re home now. We live close to the university as well. Do you know where Therinfal is?”

“Therinfal Apartments?” In fact, they were in her view. Everyone in the whole bloody school wanted to live in Therinfal, with its own private beach and giant pool. When she first came down she looked at living there with just one other person, though quickly found out it was out of her price range.

“Want to come over now?” Rylen asked. “The place has just been cleaned too. Not sure when that will happen again.”

“Yeah. I’ll be there soon,” Lydia said, rising. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Barris will be down to meet you. He’ll be the one waving.”

“Sounds good.”

Gathering her things, Lydia began the jog to Therinfal, with the one hope that maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Cleo was supposed to dodge, not catch.

Every weekday, Cullen had a ritual. He would take Cleo to the beach outside of the apartments, and throw the chew toy shaped like a pink bone at her. And dutifully, with not just her tail but rather her whole bottom wagging, she would chase after it and bring it back, rolling over onto her back in the sand afterward and expecting him to give her a belly rub for doing such a good job. Cullen wasn’t sure how he was supposed to get it into her head that if the bone was made of fire, she would have been dead, but he suspected he wasn’t supposed to give out belly rubs. But she was such a good girl. He couldn’t help it.

Poor Cleo. She probably didn’t get belly rubs or bits of steak leftover from dinner from her old owners. When Cullen went to the animal shelter, he was told she had been abandoned after the novelty of owning a mabari wore off. He suspected they were Orlesian. Only an Orlesian would come up with the name of “Cleo.” Rylen and Barris certainly had a good laugh over her name when Cullen brought her home for the first time. At least the name sounded similar to “Cliodna,” the name of one of the characters in the book of stories he used to read when he was little, and Cullen could tell people that that was what the name was short for.

Panting, when Cullen sat down in the sand, Cleo wagged her tail and went right near him, expecting an ear scratch. He chuckled as she lifted her head, trying to get him to scratch right at her sweet spot that made her back leg thump. He didn’t tell his roommates that the only times he didn’t feel like shit was when he was with Cleo, but he suspected they already knew. It made him wonder why they still were so adamant about joining the templars.

“Rutherford, over here!”

Cullen turned to see Rylen, jogging over toward him. Cullen put on Cleo’s leash before he stood, meeting Rylen halfway. Usually Rylen or Barris didn’t bother him during these times. The beach was always deserted around late noon, and they knew how Cullen needed time to breathe and be alone. He figured something must have happened, like the time Barris set the fire alarm off when he tried to bake some cookies, and asked what they managed to do this time without him.

“Nothing,” Rylen answered as Cullen wiped the sand from his jeans. “We just got a response to the notice we put.”

“About the roommate?”

“No, the one asking for a nanny to babysit you. Yes…about the roommate!” Rylen added, before Cullen could roll his eyes or come up with a retort.

He came up with one anyway. “Aren’t you two the ones that need a nanny?”

“Ho, ho,” Rylen huffed. “Barris showed her around the place. She likes it a lot.”

Cullen blinked. “She?”

“Yeah, she. Have a problem with that?”

“No, but wouldn’t she?” In his experience, a lot of women wouldn’t want to be roommates with three other men. Things like personal hygiene, messes, and a load of other things came to his mind.

Rylen shrugged. “Said she didn’t mind the situation. Want to meet her? I think she wanted to see the pool.”

Therinfal was one of the most sought after apartments for the university’s students, the pool one of the main reasons for that. The thing was massive, with an exceptionally large deep end complete with diving board and waterfall. It was a nice pool that didn’t get much of a use, considering most of their neighbors preferred tanning and posing near it than actually swimming around. Barris though sometimes used it, and Cullen could see him talking to their new potential roommate. She was facing him as he talked animatedly about something or other. All Cullen could see was a pink floral pattern dress of some sort, dark wavy hair, and shapely, tanned legs.

Maker. It had been a long time. He forgot he had a leg thing. He pushed aside.

“There they are,” Barris said, pointing. “Cullen. How was training today? Has she dodged yet?”

“Not yet.” And it didn’t look like she would ever, though Cullen assured she was coming around. He glanced down at their new potential roommate after, blue eyes peering at him behind large sunglasses. “Ah. Cullen, and Cleo," she said. "I’m Lydia.”

She stuck out her hand, and Cullen shook it. Unusually warm. Lydia glanced at Cleo, setting her hand on her lap after. “So. I hear you’re trying to teach the dog how to dodge the ball?”

“Not entirely,” Cullen replied, too quickly.

“He’s lying. He is.”

As Cullen hit Rylen with his foot, Barris held back his laugh, and Lydia shook her head in amusement. “Fereldans and their mabaris are the strangest,” she mused.

“I…” His words caught, mildly scandalized as he was. “How…how do you know I’m Fereldan?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Come on,” she replied. “I could see the Fereldan a mile away. You know, I think I’ve seen you on campus a lot too and never realized it. Don’t you always go to the coffee shop for a plain black coffee?”

“…maybe,” he replied, stiffly.

As she smirked at him, Cullen scratched the back of his head. He never felt like that before, like someone could see through all of him. Know things. He didn’t like it, not one bit, and he felt the creeping of an awkward silence as Lydia stuck her hand out for Cleo to sniff. Cullen wished Cleo could hear his thoughts, thoughts of how he wanted her not to give Lydia permission to pet her. Unfortunately for him, Cleo gave the permission with a very enthusiastic wag of the tail.

“So you like the place?” Barris asked Lydia, who had already found Cleo’s sweet spot, sending her back leg thumping.

“I do, an awful lot. And the rent isn’t bad if there’s four of us.”

Cullen straightened. “Can you afford it?”

“I can,” Lydia said, with a bit of an edge.

“Maker Cullen. That was a little rude.”

“I wasn’t,” he said to Rylen, turning his defenses on. “I was asking a question!”

“It’s fine,” Lydia said, though she kept a steely gaze on him. He realized quickly it was time to keep his mouth shut.

“Great,” Rylen said, clapping his hands. “So Lydia, when can you move in?”

“Well, as early as next week, if you all will have me. I can even cook a celebratory meal for you all. Hope you like fettucine alfredo.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay,” Barris said. “We would be glad to have you. And I do love fettucine.”

We, as in, all of them. Cullen frowned, before motioning for the two of his roommates to follow him as conspiratorially as he could. He wasn’t very successful—he could feel Lydia’s blue eyes on him still as they headed away from her, closer to the pool’s edge. He had to tug on Cleo’s leash a little, the dog wanting to stay with Lydia. Traitor.

“Um, guys,” Cullen began, “are you sure about this?”

“You were the one that said rent was kind of a lot mate,” Rylen pointed out. “Come on. I like her. And it doesn’t look like anyone else is going to answer. The university is nearly deserted around this time. Most people are heading home.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Barris asked. “Cleo even likes her.”

“You just don’t like her because she has a biting wit, and you’re worried your dog will end up liking her more than you.”

Cullen sighed. “No Rylen, that’s not it.”

“Ah come on Cullen,” Barris said. “She’s funny, smart, and cooks. And pretty hot,” he added, under his breath. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Ah thanks Barris,” Lydia called. “You’re easy on the eyes, I have to say. So are you Rylen. The tattoos are a nice touch.”

Both Rylen and Barris turned a little red, thanking Lydia, leaving Cullen standing between them, utterly dumbstruck.

“Oh. You’re alright too, Ferelden,” she added in the briefest aside. Cullen’s heart rate was going up, blush creeping. Just alright, she had said. But the woman crossed her arms, and her legs, and said no more.

“Hey. She said she usually goes out and about, just really needs a place to crash,” Barris said, bringing matters back to the topic at hand. “And she said it’s only for summer, then she’ll move back in with her other roommate.”

Rylen shifted. “Mate, Barris and I can’t get as many hours in anymore because of training. You know that. Rent is going to be a pain if we don’t add a fourth person.”

“Yeah,” Cullen replied. “I know. I was there once.”

“Come on. Get another job and you won’t even likely see her.”

“Shame,” Barris said, side-eyeing Lydia, and not very successfully at that, seeing as how she waved at them. Both Barris and Rylen waved back. Meanwhile, Cullen became forlorn, casting a glance at Cleo’s grey fur. As if reading his thoughts, she looked up at him with her big sympathetic eyes. Sure, Cullen had a job at the university as a tutor, and though the pay was alright, he knew he needed something else. It was unfortunate though that when people realized what his former job was, and realized his predicament, they all cast him aside. But it was the way the world worked. No one wanted to hire an ex templar. No one wanted to deal with someone that called in sick too much, due to the shakes, and the ache that the withdrawal caused.

Withdrawal. He hated that word. He wondered how Rylen and Barris could live with him, know what he suffered and what the cost of his old abilities were, and still want to serve and join.

The woman, Lydia. He didn’t like the way she looked at him, like she could see through every part of him. It made him feel vulnerable. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like a stranger could make him feel this way. He didn’t like the way the sunlight played on her hair either, revealing lighter tones in the brown. He didn’t like the almond shape of her blue eyes, or how blue they were, like the sea. And he really didn’t like the shape of her legs. Not the strength in them, not anything.

Most of all, he didn’t like the fact that she would be under his roof, and sit there, on their nasty decrepit couch they bought from some second-hand shop, and sit there and judge him. They all did. Why would she be any different?

But his roommates and him, they walked over to her. Said she was more than welcome to be their fourth roommate. And she smiled a wide smile, and said she could start moving her things in soon. Her gaze hardly ever left his form. It was going to be a long, excruciating summer, living under that gaze.

Cullen knew it then: once you were under her gaze, you were not let go until she wanted. Because everything, everything, was under her terms.

And now, she was his roommate, and he wondered if there would be any new terms under their new roof.

 

* * *

 

Lydia usually took the bus home, but since she had missed her usual one scouting Therinfal and meeting her new roommates, Rylen offered to drive her back to her place. Well, it was more appropriate to say that Rylen offered Cullen to drive her home, because Cullen was the one with the car, and Cullen begrudgingly went along with it, though Lydia sensed he had better things to do, like play with his dog.

Cullen Rutherford. Out of all three of her new roommates, he was the one that couldn’t quite be pinned down to one particular attribute. Rylen Fitzgibbons was the suave one, though hidden underneath was a heart of gold, and a desire to excel. Delrin Barris, though he just preferred to be called Barris, was more openly sweet and pleasant. He gave compliments and pats on the back when he saw fit, and it didn’t take much for him to bring his walls down, if he had any at all. The man wore his heart on his sleeve. Cullen Rutherford meanwhile was the one who had walls. Lydia sensed it from the moment they met. She had sensed something else as well about him.

He was hurting. A lot.

Intensely, he kept his eyes focused on the road, both hands on the wheel as he remained in a deep concentration, driving through unfamiliar territory. He drove a red Chevy, slightly beat up, but reliable. She kept her gaze straight ahead for the most part, but she couldn’t help but sneak a few glances at him now and then. He had an interesting profile—natural highlight caused by the sunset bringing out his high cheekbones, stubble slightly darker than his golden blonde hair, and warm colored eyes. Neither brown nor hazel. Amber perhaps, if she had to put a name to them. He was also a bit older than Rylen and Barris, who had to be around twenty-four, same as her. If she had to peg Cullen, she would have guessed somewhere in his mid-twenties. Twenty-nine at the most. That wasn’t too odd thoigh. She was older for a student anyway. A lot of people didn’t enter university until a few years after they turned eighteen.

“Er,”

It sounded like he was trying to say something. She had kept quiet as they drove. Mostly because she could sense some discomfort in him, and she also damn well knew he didn’t really care for her that much. It was fine. Lots of people didn’t, and Lydia knew why. She liked to judge, size people up when she met them. Some people didn’t like that, and that was their right. But in her experience, if an initial sizing up was something she didn’t do, she might run into trouble. The Maker knew if she sized up Asher before that mess transpired, she would have saved herself a world of trouble.

Never again. Never. So of course she had to size others up when she met them. How else could she tell if people were going to hurt her or not?

But Cullen seemed like he wanted to say something, so Lydia asked him what was up.

“I’m sorry,” he said, surprising her. “Sorry if I was unfriendly. I have been told it’s a problem with me.”

“No, I get it,” Lydia replied. “I just want to know. And you can tell me the truth. Actually, I would prefer if you told me the truth. Do I make you feel uncomfortable?”

It took him a moment to reply. She suspected she knew the answer already, but she wanted the truth from him. She got it, eventually anyway, as he nodded at her.

“But only a little,” he added, as a caveat.

“Good. I enjoy making men uncomfortable,” she replied, meaning to tease. He didn’t answer. She decided to just tell him she was teasing.

His remained expressionless. “I know.”

“But you didn’t think it was funny?”

“Funny enough, as jokes go. I suppose I’m not in the mood for them.”

“Barris said you’re hardly ever in the mood for joking.” Lydia remembered him mentioning that as he showed her the various rooms in the apartment.

“Did he mention anything else?”

He was careful as he asked. His roommates must have known something about him, something he didn’t want others to know. But she replied with “nothing else,” which was the truth.

The silence that followed the reply was so awkward, Lydia could cut it with a knife. She figured a little small talk wouldn’t harm anyone. “So,” she began, crossing her legs. “What are you studying?”

“History,” he replied.

“Ah. I’m studying literature.”

“I didn’t realize there were summer classes for literature.”

“There isn’t,” Lydia replied. “I just wanted to stay in town for the summer. Would have stayed with my current roommate, but our lease is up, and Josephine is heading back to Antiva for the break. Are you taking classes for the summer?”

“No. Just staying. But Rylen and Barris are.”

“Oh. What’s their area of study?”

“They’re in their second year of templar training.”

Something inside her fell. He sensed that, as he glanced at her, blinking “Are you…alright with that?” he asked, tentatively.

“Yeah. Fine,” she answered, quite quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“A lot of people wouldn’t.”

It was true enough. In recent years there had been lots of protests about the ethics of templars and Circles, though the chantry still maintained their necessity. Which was true enough, Lydia knew. Magic unchecked could do a lot of damage if the wrong mage got the wrong idea, and templars protected against other threats as well. They were the first line of defense Thedas had.

Lydia shrugged. “Templars are fine. I mean, I don’t agree with Circles, or the system, but I’ve known some good templars.” She also knew some bad ones, her ex-boyfriend among them. She kept that to herself.

“Different from what a lot of people would say,” Cullen muttered. “There is a lot of judgement when you’re a templar.”

“You say that like you are one,” she noted.

“Used to be. Not anymore.”

Well. She should have figured.

They drove up to her apartment, and the timing couldn’t have been better. She stood on a precipice, wondering if she should ask Cullen the question that had been around her mind since the moment he told her: are you still taking lyrium?

Then she brushed it aside, realizing it was a stupid question, because she had seen his weary form, seen his tired eyes. No. He wasn’t still taking it. And she didn’t know if that made him very brave, or very stupid. Maybe both.

Cullen must have expected judgement, but she gave none. He didn’t voice it, as he parked the car and Lydia gathered her things, but he thanked her for it. She appreciated it all the same.

“I don’t have much,” she said as she stepped out of the car. “It won’t take me long to start moving in.”

“Are you going to need help?” he asked.

“Maybe. I’ll call,” she replied. “Thank you for offering though. And thank you for driving me back.”

“Anytime.”

He smiled at her before she closed the door. As she walked inside the foyer to her building him drive away. The Chevy really was kind of beat up. Not a frilly car by any means. Serviceable. She also thought a little about the man that drove it. He probably would have a thing or two to say, if he found out she was a mage. Maker. Nice as Rylen and Barris were, they would probably have a thing or two to say as well. A lot of people would have. Yet she reminded herself she escaped Ostwick years ago, and managed to hide it for years. She even went to school with templars, and even ran into the head of the department, Meredith Stannard a lot at the university. Meredith was always none the wiser. If she could walk by her every day, she could live with two templars in training and an ex one. If anything that would make it less obvious that she was a mage. No one would have guessed.

Yeah, lying was bad, and she didn’t like doing it. But technically maybe it wasn’t lying, if the whole topic never came up. Then again, it wouldn’t have been the first lie she told them. No, the first one was about how she said Cullen was “alright” in the looks department. She had gotten a pretty great glance of his backside as he walked away from her by the pool with Rylen and Barris. He was better than “alright,” in the looks department. Much better.

She thought of him in the car, looking at he road as his hand gripped the steering wheel. Strong hands. Big. Curly hair tousled, and—

She knocked some sense back into her. She walked by good looking men all the time. Maker. She was going to live with two other good looking men. What was such the big deal about Cullen? He was a bit of a cad anyway. Whatever attraction, if she called it that, she was going to have to deal with it. She wasn’t in the mood for another relationship. She wasn’t in the mood for any more feelings.

She was deluded. The feelings had already knocked on the door and said hello. Even if they were feelings about him being a bit of an ass.

Well. The feelings were going to have to go right back where they came from. That was what old Lydia would have done, wallowed in feelings. New Lydia was much different. New Lydia didn’t give a flying fuck about anything.

And what Cullen Rutherford thought of her didn’t matter at all. It was only one summer. She could handle it. Both hiding her true origins, and other things. Because new Lydia was entering that apartment. And new Lydia was going to go about her own damn business.


	2. Chapter 2

Cullen had long since forgotten what waking up after a good night’s rest felt like. Waking up and feeling shitty basically became a part of his DNA after leaving the Order’s ranks. At least Cleo was there, offering him her morning ritual, which included lots of licks to his face, often dripping with perspiration. Someone may have told him a long time ago that letting the dog sleep on the bed was a bad idea, but who else could wake him up when he was having a bad dream? And with the influx of them since leaving the Order, Cleo was a constant source of comfort.

He hobbled out of bed, promising Cleo an extra treat for waking him up during the night when he had a particularly bad bout of night terrors. On the way, he passed Lydia’s new room. He wasn’t sure if she was in there, but basic decorum told him he shouldn’t check. It had been her first night in the apartment, and he was still testing the waters on how the situation was going to go down. He wasn’t even sure what her plans were for the day. She didn’t have classes like Rylen and Barris, and though she said she worked as a waitress at some steakhouse, he didn’t know if she was working that day. It happened to be one of his off days himself.

It took less than a week for Lydia to move her things into the back room. And two seconds for Barris to suggest he, Cullen and Rylen share the first bathroom, so Lydia could have one to herself. “For reasons,” Barris suggested. “You know.”

Both Cullen and Rylen agreed. Rylen, because his sense of chivalry won out. Cullen because he didn’t care. Lydia was nice about it though, said it didn’t have to be that way, but Barris and Rylen practically threw themselves on the floor, bending over backwards to prove that it was all right. Eventually they won out, and Lydia said they were all “dolls.” What a term of endearment.

Lydia’s room used to be a place where they had all their weights and secondhand exercise aerobic bike, but once they realized they were going to need to get a new roommate, they moved those things to the already cramped living room. It was far too cluttered for Cullen’s taste, something he was reminded of when he made his coffee and fed Cleo, but Rylen told him to get over it. He also remembered how the three of them almost threw out their backs helping Lydia. She may not have had much, a double bed with a royal blue comforter, matching pillows, a rundown desk, and lots of books, but damn they were heavy. This was in addition to the pictures here and there of movies he knew the name of but never watched, like _Casablanca._ After the stuff was moved Barris and Rylen even helped her get her things organized, Cullen grabbing a drink in the kitchen at the time. He could overhear their conversation over the posters. Lydia gabbed about her love for old movies, and though Rylen quipped about the fact that they happened to make movies in the Dragon Age, also known as the age they were currently in, Lydia retained the idea that old movies had a sense of splendor about them. An elegance. Old movie stars, particularly the ones from America, lived in a world of glamor, and though there was hardship, they never let it show. “It’s something I suppose I try to emulate,” she said of it, and though Cullen found it odd, he knew better than to say so.

Lydia’s first morning as their roommate also happened to coincide with Barris and Rylen’s first day of classes for the Summer semester. They would begin their combat and swordplay training officially, go through the protocol, and then sit their vigil. It would be brutal, Cullen forewarned, especially since they were joining the Order later. His own was brutal enough, and he had been eased into it as a young teenager akin to most templars, not slammed with it as an adult. It was why Meredith hired Cullen as her second. He had gone through it, knew it, and soon he would be moving on from tutoring the chant of light and chantry history to swordplay and combat. Rylen and Barris even gabbed all about it the night before as Lydia made her celebratory meal for them. They bragged about themselves and their new status as she stood in the kitchen boiling noodles, cooking sausage on the stovetop, and making her alfredo sauce. And when Lydia asked Cullen what exactly he did, Rylen was the one that proudly announced who he worked for.

Lydia blinked at the information, taking a moment to respond. “Oh? Interesting.”

Cullen didn’t think he liked her tone. It sounded too accusatory for his tastes. “You don’t like her?” he asked, his sense of respect for his superior kicking in.

She shrugged. “Maybe she’s peachy and lovely. It just looks to me like she always has a stick up her ass.”

While Rylen and Barris chuckled, Cullen didn’t, and his thoughts were elsewhere during dinner as Lydia spoke of her own life. He half listened to her stories about school, half listened to Rylen and Barris prove how chivalrous they were, and absently pet Cleo has he ate Lydia’s pasta.

“Did you like it?” she asked after dinner, Cullen doing his part by washing the dishes. If he was inclined to tell her the truth, he would have said it was the best pasta dish he had in ages. He didn’t give her the satisfaction though. He told her pasta wasn’t his favorite.

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Bet you liked the sausage though, right?”

“I was never one for sausage either, to be honest,” he said, though the sausage was perfectly seasoned and cooked well.

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” she said with a smirk, and he got the feeling she wasn’t referring to food anymore.

Sipping his coffee, Cullen fed Cleo and gave her a treat, before noticing a post it on the counter in loopy and bubbly handwriting: _Cullen. Muffins in the oven. They’re blueberry. Have as many as you want, Rylen and Barris already ate._

Cullen scoffed. Muffins too? Next he would turn and find her dusting and cleaning the apartment while humming a song, akin to one of those princesses in old Disney movies from the United States. There was no humming yet though, or singing. She must have gone off somewhere. He would have heard her milling around if she was around.

He didn’t have time to speculate, he wanted to give Cleo a walk before it became too late. He dressed for a light run, begrudgingly eating a muffin beforehand for fuel, then one more when the tart blueberry flavor burst in his mouth. His mother made blueberry muffins sometimes when he was a boy, a memory from childhood that resurfaced when he wiped away the crumbs from his shirt. Along with that memory came others. Summer days like this one, playing chess outside on the patio. Mia winning all the time, until he and Bran practiced together for weeks, finally winning against Mia and managing to wipe that stubborn grin off her face. Playing knights with his siblings, and Rosalie bouncing up and down, wanting to be the princess that Cullen could rescue, as any brave and gallant knight would. He used to think of those times and smile. Now, they only served to make him depressed.

Running with Cleo usually made him feel better, but as he jogged along the beach, he saw his mother, and the way she tried to bite back tears before he left to join the templars. Clear as day too, he saw the letters his family used to write him. Calling wasn’t a frequent luxury they were given in the monastery, but letters were, and Cullen spent hours writing to his family about the goings on of the day. Writing to them used to be therapeutic, until he couldn’t do it anymore. But how could he? He couldn’t tell them what happened, burden them with it. It was better to leave it to himself. Move to Kirkwall, start a new blank slate.

Barris called him ridiculous for not telling his family, and said he was torturing himself. But neither Rylen or Barris knew the whole truth of the matter. He suspected their stance would change if they knew everything. Everyone’s opinion of him changed when they knew.

Cleo didn’t tire easily, but Cullen did, at least that day. Her leash in hand, he sunk into the sand, a careful distance away from the water. The sand was soft and powdery, the water a denim colored blue. Beautiful, but no one was around to see, like most beautiful things. He didn’t mind it though, being alone with Cleo and the slight migraine he had developed since his jog ended was what he preferred. Sometimes simply being around other people was tiring. Yet try as he might to deny it, he couldn’t any longer. He wanted another blueberry muffin.

He walked back to the apartments, deciding to cut through the pool instead of taking the trail to the beach. He wasn’t looking for his new roommate certainly, but Cleo found her, trotting over and forcing Cullen to head over to where she was, laid out by the pool and soaking the sun’s rays like a nymph in a painting. When Cleo licked her shoulder she laughed, rising to pet the dog and offer Cullen a greeting. He had no choice but to thank her for the muffins.

“Did you like them?”

“Not bad,” he lied.

“I’m glad you didn’t think they were terrible” she said with a laugh, scratching Cleo from behind the ears. “Did you two have a nice run? You should think about jumping in the pool to cool off. I’m about to myself.”

In Cullen’s time at Therinfal, he observed the two types of people who sat by the pool. The posers who laid out splayed like pompous Orlesians in itty bitty swimsuits and swim trunks, and those who actually used the damn thing for the intended purpose. Rylen was the first type, while Barris was the second. He himself wasn’t one for swimming at all, but was mildly impressed that Lydia was the second type. Those types were rare. So impressed, it left him temporarily mute.

She stared at him behind her sunglasses, waiting for him to say something. “I’m not one for swimming,” he stammered at last.

“Have you ever learned?”

“Yes,” he said, though the truth of the matter was more complicated than that. “It’s not something I enjoy though.”

“I always have,” she said, rising, and stretching, and in the process showing off just how well that red swimsuit she wore hugged the curves of her body. She wore a one-piece, which Cullen found unusual. Most of the time he came by the pool, the women wore bikinis. Lydia favored the one-piece though. It better showed off the hourglass figure she sported. Hourglass figure, shapely legs, and wild, unruly hair that had subtle hues of red in the sunlight. Eighties and nineties rock bands would have written songs about her. He tried not to think of that, or get into specific songs she reminded him of as tossed off her sunglasses and walked towards the pool’s edge. Already she was showing signs of a tannish glow. Her skin was a medium olive, and the recent sun exposure had given it a golden hue. She had pushed down the straps to avoid tan lines, and before getting into the water, she pushed them back up. In the water she jumped, doing so in a sleekly performed swan dive. Cullen had never seen one performed before, and he watched in a trance as through the water she glided, not immediately coming up for air. She made it half way to the other side of the pool before resurfacing, sighing at the feeling of cool water against skin. He witnessed an impressive feat, even if he was going to keep it to himself. She had more than enough compliments with the muffins already.

She swam back to the edge of the pool, stretching out and floating along before hoisting herself up and onto the edge. When Cleo tugged on the leash, wanting to go over to Lydia, Cullen rolled his eyes, but brought her over. Lydia received lots of licks across her damp face, and she giggled at the feeling of Cleo’s rough pink tongue.

“So Rylen and Barris said you don’t have work today,” she said, continuing to pet the dog. “They said their day would be long as well. But I was wondering if you had any plans?”

Cullen never had plans when he was off. Sometimes his roommates made plans for him, but that wasn’t very often. He shook his head.

“Well, I was wondering if you minded I watch a few movies today? The classic movie channel is doing a day of musicals, and it’s starting soon.”

“Musicals?” he repeated, less than thrilled.

“Don’t knock them till you watch them. Maybe you’ll like them.”

He had seen a few, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He certainly didn’t want to watch any either, but the previous night, Rylen knocked him on the shoulder, and told him he should be more chivalrous when it came to Lydia. Cullen didn’t see how he wasn’t, but he knew he was going to have to put in some considerable effort to at least act like the average person’s idea of hospitable. If he liked it or not, Lydia was his new roommate. Comprises were going to be inevitable in this situation.

He shifted his feet, trying to warm up to the idea. “They’re not Disney musicals are they?”

“No,” she replied. “They’re old Hollywood musicals. Rodger’s and Hammerstein. But don’t you dare knock down Disney movies,” she said, wagging her finger at him. “They are classics.”

The day would come when he would walk into the living room, and Lydia Trevelyan would be dancing around as she dusted the house, furry squirrels around her feet as she sung. As he walked back into the apartment and ate another muffin, he hoped that particular day would occur when he was far, far away.

 

* * *

 

Lydia set an agenda when she returned to the apartment. They had thirty minutes until _Oklahoma!_ started, and while Cullen showered, she popped some popcorn. She made more than she could eat, so when Cullen emerged, Cleo bouncing around his legs, she offered him some. He declined.

“I don’t care for it,” he said.

She shook her head, wondering how much joy was sucked from his life. “No one doesn’t like popcorn, unless you’re allergic. Those poor souls.” She said a quick prayer for them. “Ah well, more for me.”

She showered after, washing her hair quickly and throwing on a modest pair of blue silk pajamas. When she returned to the living room, Cullen’s back was turned toward her. He probably didn’t mean to be caught red handed into the bowl of popcorn, but caught he was.

“It’s…better than I remember,” he said, swallowing, and wiping his hands against his grey sweatpants, in that infuriating way that men often did. “Also, you added lots of butter. It’s good. Sorry. Maybe I lied.”

“Fereldans are so stubborn,” she said, hands on her hips. “Just have some.”

He made a face, displeased at his nickname. She would have promised him once again there was no shame in it, her mother happened to be from Ferelden, and her mother was her favorite person, but Cullen’s attention turned toward the playing news on the TV. Reaching for the remote, he turned it up the volume, plopping down on the long suede couch.

“More political bullshit, that’s all it is,” Lydia said of it, putting some popcorn in a bowl for herself and getting ice for a drink. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I can’t help it,” Cullen replied. “It’s a little uneasy, to think that Thedas would expose itself.”

“Truthfully, I don’t think it is,” Lydia admitted, swinging around with her popcorn and drink. “Sure, when Alistair took the throne in Ferelden he suggested exposure, but Celene has enough problems of her own and can’t deal with it now, Markus of Nevarra is too old and traditional, and the Marches are so disorganized it’s hard to come to a consensus. And Tevinter...” She shrugged at that. “It’s Tevinter. They keep themselves isolated enough as it is. They wouldn’t want to share with the rest of the world.”

Cullen shook his head. “That’s not what the talk is.”

“Maybe in our lifetimes we’ll stop with the isolation, maybe we won’t. But we can’t live in fear.”

Cullen blinked. “Doesn’t that bother you, though? If the rest of the world found out about Thedas and it’s magic, it would be chaos.”

“No one should be afraid of change,” Lydia said, sipping her drink. “It’s part of life. Maybe we could learn from each other.”

Growing up before the Circle, all Lydia’s generation heard was the old rhetoric of Thedosian isolation. For as much as Thedas liked to believe they were progressive and enlightened compared to the rest of the world, they were still rooted in that age-old tagline and mantra that the chantry had been spewing for thousands of years. Thedas had magic when no one else did, and magic was meant to serve man while never ruling over him. The rest of the world couldn’t be trusted with that power. Isolation was the only choice. That tune started to change in recent years, with more groups, particularly mages, demanding exposure. But for most of Lydia’s life, those ideas were unheard of.

“Isolationists” however were still the norm, and they were still rooted in the ways of the old. Still too afraid that the rest of the world would believe that mages could walk free and not belong in Circles. Worse yet, Maker forbid that either the United States, or any place else wanted to use mages to fight their wars. It was unthinkable. Never mind that the chantry had been doing it for years. Still, Thedas had a network off spies that surveyed from time to time, to see what was going on with the “others.” They even brought in bits of culture from the others when they saw fit. Good thing too. Half of Lydia’s childhood was watching old movies from America in Hollywood’s golden years. Her mother wouldn’t dare raise a child who didn’t know every word to every Rodger’s and Hammerstein show, nor raise a child that didn’t know where the phrase “We’ll always have Paris,” came from. It was Lydia’s duty as Theodosia Trevelyan’s daughter to thrust that love upon others. Currently, the lucky winner was Cullen Rutherford. No time for baseless news, when _Oklahoma!_ was coming on.

“Ah, enough of this,” Lydia said, grabbing the remote and flicking to the appropriate channel. “Prepare to have your mind blown.”

While a good show, _Oklahoma!_ wasn’t one of Lydia’s favorites, though she found the musical significant to the American theatre experience. She had to explain that to Cullen in the beginning during the opening number. He kept rolling his eyes at Curly’s “beautiful feeling” on the “beautiful morning,” as he sung atop his horse, moving about the corn fields.

“You’re just jealous you don’t feel as happy he does,” Lydia scoffed, and Cullen rolled his eyes in just the right way that made her know she was exactly right.

As the movie went on, Cleo sat between the two, alternating between laying down and sticking her paw in Cullen’s lap, asking for scratches and pets. Cullen obliged, but when Cleo moved over to Lydia, he poorly hid his annoyance. He even got up when the movie was almost over to give the dog a bacon strip.

“Hey!” Lydia called. “You’re missing the best part!”

“I get it. Oklahoma, where there’s waving wheat. Do they really need to sing about it?”

Before she could insist that yes, singing about the wonders of the state of Oklahoma was necessary, Cullen left for the bathroom. He was gone for a bit, and when he returned, his hair was combed and neat, The King and I was starting with the opening song, and Cleo’s head was on Lydia’s lap.

He scrunched his face. “Little traitor.”

“She still loves you,” she insisted. “But it doesn’t matter. Are you okay? You were gone for a while.”

“Nothing.”

He milled around during most of _The King and I_ , Cleo giving Lydia sad eyes the entire duration. Lydia scratched her and rubbed her belly, trying to concentrate on the movie as Cullen couldn’t keep himself idle anymore. He was doing something behind the couch, and she snuck a peak at him three quarters of the way through movie. Standing behind her, he lifted weights, so engrossed in what he was doing, that he was unaware of how disruptive his grunting was. It wasn’t only the noise either that was disruptive, it was his constant moving around and jitteriness that was making her want to tear her hair out.

Finally though, he put the weights down, just in time for Lydia’s favorite scene in the entirety of _The King and I,_ the scene where the king and Anna dance. Enraptured, there was no Cullen, and there was no dinky apartment. There wasn’t even a Lydia. For all intents and purposes, she was Anna in the movie, and her heart was fluttering as the king inched closer, brought his hand to her waist, and—

“One, two, three… _ah_.”

_“For the love of the Maker!”_

Lydia startled Cleo as she slapped her hands onto the couch. She searched for Cullen behind her, finally finding him. He was down on the floor, his eyes sheepish as he peered at her, hands behind his head.

“What?” he asked, continuing to do a few more sit-ups, counting under his breath.

“Do you know how much noise you’re making? And why are you working out anyway? You’ve already showered. This is my favorite part of the movie, and…oh, look, now it’s over!”

“Haven’t you seen it already though?”

"...yes," she admitted, twisting her hair in her fingers.

"Then does it matter?" he asked, rising from the floor.

"Well..."

"I'm hungry," he interjected. "Are you?"

“Yeah,” she answered, biting back a thousand curses upon realizing her stomach was rumbling. “Sure.”

He heat up enough leftover pasta for the both of them. There was no chatter when they ate, the only sounds being the clanking of forks against plates and the last few songs from the movie before it ended. She didn’t expect him to say anything. It was long past time that an average person would apologize for acting dickish, but when he muttered a feeble "sorry," for the noise, she just said it was fine, even if it wasn't, and he was just doing it to fuck with her.

“Is it a thing, where you always have to move around?” she asked. “You were fidgety during the last movie too.”

“Sometimes,” he replied. “I also don’t like musicals.”

“You should have told me if you didn’t want to deal with it. If you want to let me watch them out of the goodness of your heart, fine. But if you’re going to complain, move around the whole time like my ex-boyfriend…”

“Your ex?”

“Yeah, Asher,” she said, though it wasn't any of his business. “He wasn’t too fond of musicals either. Look, I’d rather not watch them if—”

“I’ll stop,” Cullen promised, with nothing but pure sincerity. “Really. I’m sorry,” he said. And it was something she did appreciate.

Yet before she could even think of say so, his phone buzzed on the table. “Rylen,” he said, reading the message. “He and Barris will be home even later than they thought.” He shook his head, closing his eyes. Lydia knew that expression he wore. Annoyed. Pained. “Something wrong?” she asked, against her better judgement, because she knew Cullen Rutherford wasn’t the type to confide. And she had already gotten an apology out of him, she couldn’t expect to struck gold twice. Most templars were walls of stone. Even ex-templars. Perhaps them even more so. They retreated to their shells, because that was easier than feeling.

“Headache,” he merely replied. That would be all she would get from him. He would never tell her that his jitteriness or his headache, or the way he constantly had to be in motion was because he wasn’t taking lyrium anymore. Or at least, it was what she suspected, but they would never have that relationship where he would be willing to confide in her. He didn’t like her poking or prodding or ways in which she messed with him. He wouldn’t tell her his deepest darkest secrets. It was fine. she wouldn’t tell him hers either. Not about her being a mage, or about how she only messed and teased with people when she felt something for them. Not necessarily attraction, though she couldn’t shake away the image of his arms and shoulders, sinewy and strong as he did a few stray sit-ups. Just something. Something could be a million different things that weren’t attraction.

His eyes were on her as she stood and picked up their plates, and he was surprised to see her wash the dishes for the two of them. He thanked her, still oddly bemused that she had taken it upon herself to do a little domesticity. It was the same odd bemusement he had the previous night when she cooked dinner.

“Shocking, a woman who cooks and does dishes,” Lydia replied, rather flippantly.

“It’s not that you’re a woman,” Cullen insisted.

“Though you noticed I am?”

Even with her tone, clearly meant to tease, he became flustered. She bit back her laughter. “Well, yes,” he replied, and even though she had her back toward him, she could see him play with his hair. “I mean, it is polite to chip in, since we all live together. And you know, you don’t have to do the chores if you don’t want, though I think we should all consider maybe splitting them up, and—”

“It’s fine,” Lydia said. “We can discuss it later with Rylen and Barris. And we don’t have to continue watching these movies if you don’t want. If there’s a basketball game or something on…”

“Wait." He glanced at the TV, pointing. "Is that _The Sound of Music_?”

She forgot it was the last movie coming on for the day. “Yes, that’s _The Sound of Music_ ,” Lydia replied, watching Julie Andrews as Maria flail around the hilltop, singing about how the hills were alive with the sound of music.

“My mother used to love this movie. Used to sing it all the time. I didn’t realize it was Rodgers and Hammerstein,” Cullen said, a bit dreamily, as if he was relieving those memories.

“Surprising. This is their most famous,” Lydia quipped, before the startling realization that she and Cullen Rutherford had something in common hit her. “You know, my mom sang this all the time as well,” she said, still baffled by the information. “Did you like this musical then?”

“I generally don’t understand why people feel the need to sing in these things to express their feelings. It makes no sense, but—”

“Hey,” Lydia interjected. “People sing in musicals because they become so happy, or sad, or whatever, that words aren’t enough anymore. Song and music is the only way they can express themselves. Haven’t you ever been that happy that words weren’t enough?”

“No.”

She threw her hands up. “In that case, I feel sorry for you.”

“So what you’re saying is, you’ve been so happy before that you’ve actually burst out singing? Maker. You actually are a Disney princess.”

“It’s a metaphor, that’s all I meant," she explained, flustered. "Songs in musicals are a metaphor.”

“It still makes no sense,” Cullen insisted with a damnable persistence. “But what I was going to say, before you interrupted me…” he rose from his chair. “Yes. I suppose I did like it.”

“Do you still?” she wondered.

“I don’t know.”

“Want to find out?”

“Too many memories with it. No.”

She had memories with it too. A lot of them. She didn’t see how that could be bad, unless the memories were bad. So she asked him, “did you have a falling out with your family or something?”

Asking was bold. Too bold, considering their standing. Cullen surprised her though, by answering. It was a cryptic answer, a “maybe, I don’t really know,” but he answered.  
“I’m sorry," she said in turn, though he didn’t say anything else.

He fed Cleo as Lydia went back to the couch to watch the movie. As Cleo ate, Cullen came over, and told her he was going to bed. “I know it’s a bit early, but I don’t feel well,” he said. “Besides, Meredith needs me early tomorrow, and…ah.” He rubbed his neck. “Goodnight.”

Cleo came between them, wagging her tail and observing the two humans, as if trying to figure out what she should do. Remain with Lydia, or go with Cullen. As Lydia offered Cullen a goodnight, she motioned for her to follow her owner to bed. She got the feeling he needed some cuddles. He was quiet for the rest of the night, as was Cleo. And as Lydia became swept in the grandeur and splendor of the movie, she wondered what memories of Cullen’s family were so terrible that the images of the hills and the sounds they made at being alive were no longer something he wanted to experience. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. I apologize! Had some writer's block and have been working on my other story, IWD. But please enjoy! This is where the fun really begins <3

Two days after the event that Lydia dubbed “the musical marathon misstep,” Cullen’s usual dour expression switched. He was still dour and a big sour puss, but there was a new layer to the little line on his forehead and pursed lips. It was the look of a man who had just been severely roasted.

It happened early Monday morning. Everyone was up already, quiet and still groggy from sleep. Lydia had to be at the steakhouse early to help set up, and both Rylen and Barris had training. Cullen was an early riser, Lydia knew, as he generally woke up early even when he didn’t have work, but he needed to be at the school that day as well. His phone buzzed with a new email. He looked at it, and that’s when it happened. Over his cup of coffee and blueberry muffin she made, Cullen leaned over the kitchen counter, absorbed and embarrassed, and that was when Lydia knew he was officially roasted. She just didn’t know why yet.

Perplexed, Lydia peered from the kitchen table, as did Rylen and Barris, who also noticed something was off.

“What’s the matter mate?” Rylen asked. “Meredith?”

Cullen shook his head, tapping his finger against the counter and sucking in his cheeks. The phone dinged, and dinged and dinged again with at least five texts before ringing. Cullen shut it off, contemplating something while everyone else looked on.

Barris, unlike Lydia and Rylen, who were probably more amused at Cullen’s antics, was the only saint of the group and asked again what was wrong as Rylen and Lydia exchanged looks.

“Cullen? She didn’t fire you, did she?” Barris asked.

“No,” Cullen said, before closing his eyes, and sighing. “Ah. It’s my sister. Mia. She knows I’m in Kirkwall.”

The air changed from general morning sleepiness to awkward tension, even with Lydia. She knew less about Cullen than Rylen and Barris, or at least she presumed so, but she did know one thing: he was estranged from his family. There could be no other reason _The Sound of Music_ didn’t bring him the joy it may have once before. One did not simply not get at least some minimal enjoyment out of _The Sound of Music._

“Is she grilling it into you?” Barris asked, breaking the silence.

“Not exactly.”

“She is,” Rylen said in a very matter-of-fact way. “Of course she is. I told you, this is what would happen if you ignored her. And how long have you been doing it? Too long mate. Come on.”

“She’s disappointed, yes,” Cullen admitted, with some trepidation, looking at his phone that currently had three missed calls, all from Mia. “But I didn’t think she would track me down to Kirkwall. How did she even…?”

“Kinloch must have told her where you went, that’s all,” Rylen said, Barris adding that Cullen “should have never underestimated an older sister.”

Cullen let out an annoyed grunt, bending down so he could pet his dog. “Doesn’t matter,” he barked. “I’ll email her back later.”

“Why don’t you call her?” Lydia suggested, innocently enough. “I’m sure she would love to hear your voice.”

“There’s a reason I changed numbers when I left,” he said. “I can’t talk to Mia. Not now anyway. Or maybe ever because if I do, I won’t ever get a moment’s peace. Now if you’ll excuse me…” He grabbed his keys and wallet from the counter. “I have to go.”

He pet Cleo one more time before leaving the apartment, not even bothering to lock the door behind him. The apartment went silent again.

It was too awkward. Lydia made a clicking sound with her tongue. “Ummm, guys….”

Both Barris and Rylen looked at her.

“Guys?”

Rylen was the first to speak. “You want to know huh?”

“Yeah,” Lydia admitted, shifting. “But maybe it’s none of my business.”

“You do live here,” Barris pointed out. “And there was…that.”

“Is he always so grumpy?”

The two exchanged looks before regarding her again. “Every once in a while,” Barris said, while Rylen blurted what Lydia assumed to be the truth, which was, “always.”

“I mean, lots of people have family problems,” Lydia said. “You know.”

“Well, Cullen’s is more than that.”

Barris jabbed Rylen. “Why you mad?” he asked, rubbing the spot on his side that Barris hit. “You said she lived her. Doesn’t she have a right to know?”

“Yeah, but...”

“Guys, if you don’t want to say anything—”

“Cullen stopped being a templar after something really bad happened to him in Kinloch, and stopped talking to his family.”

In ten minutes after Rylen blurted out the too long didn’t read version of events, Lydia had a rough idea of Cullen’s timeline. While neither Rylen nor Barris knew what exactly the “bad thing” was that happened to Cullen, they knew whatever it was more than just “bad,” as Barris put it, but extraordinarily bad.

Rylen sighed. “He also stopped it with th—”

Lydia was in the process of pouring herself more coffee, but Rylen’s abrupt stopping in the middle sentence nonsense caught her attention. Barris and him, they were exchanging looks. Again. They could make a whole schtick out of how often they exchanged looks.

“It was so bad even Meredith spoke of it as “the incident,” and she used it as a reminder on why templars were needed to badly…” Barris finally offered. “Cullen stopped being so… carefree after that. For lack of a better word. Maybe. I don’t know. We didn’t know him back then. But even though he technically isn’t part of the Order anymore, he takes everything so seriously, and…damn he needs to lighten up. In class it’s always, ‘templars are needed, templars are needed, because I’ve seen the worst of magic and it’s terrible.’ You know."

She leaned against the counter. “Do you think templars are needed?” Lydia asked casually, testing the waters.

“To protect, yes,” Barris said, while Rylen nodded in agreement. “Meredith is a big traditionalist. Believes in the old ways, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

The old ways. Mages locked away.

She decided to test the waters further. “Don’t think mages need to be locked away?”

“It’s a tough subject,” Rylen replied, and Lydia thought that was fair enough. She would be safe, so long as she didn’t do anything stupid.  
“But Cullen…” Barris said, turning the subject back to where it was before. “I don’t know. I wish he wouldn’t alienate himself from his family.”

Lydia sipped her coffee. “We can’t make that decision for him. It’s up to him.”

They agreed with her, and all unanimously came to the conclusion that if Cullen wanted to finally reach out and connect with his family, he was the only one that could do it. Relationships were made of giving and taking, and if Cullen didn’t give, neither would his family. And if the day came when Cullen needed them, really needed them, how could he expect anything without giving in return? They damn well weren’t going to show up on his front door anytime soon with that sourpuss attitude that he had. And Cullen Rutherford was a sourpuss. At least he had a cute dog. That was his saving grace. Perhaps too his looks, but looks weren’t everything.

His hair was also impeccable, but that really wasn’t any of Lydia’s concern.

 

* * *

 

 

The week passed with relative normalcy. Meredith was relentless in her training, making Cullen relentless in turn, but every day he came home tired and worn out. So often, too often, he thought of the hum of the blue, steely liquid. He would have liked to admit that he resisted because of his own damn self, but every time he held it in his hand—his lyrium kit, his dog put her paw on his knee, and her sad, yellow colored puppy eyes would glance at him as her tail wagged. He wouldn’t be telling Meredith it was his dog that saved him. In fact he hardly told Meredith anything at all. Last time he mentioned anything she suggested he go back on it. And no matter how much he fucked up, that was one thing he didn’t want. It was one thing he never wanted.

He woke up Friday morning with only a slight burn in his throat. Manageable, but he was grateful he had the day off. Rylen and Barris were already gone to class when he stumbled into the kitchen, and before he could peak at Lydia’s door to see if she had work or whatever, he saw the note she left, saying she was out for a swim. She swam so much she might as well have been a dolphin. At least she had a hobby though. But then again, Cullen remembered, he did have a hobby. Teaching his dog to dodge and not catch was a very favorable hobby.

Cullen fed Cleo and ate cereal over the morning news, thinking he would put in Skyrim and play it for a couple hours before taking Cleo for a jog. He hoped Lydia wouldn’t come back as he was playing. After the day they watched all those musicals with her he didn’t want her to know he had his own little guilty pleasures. Then again, she might have already seen the game laying out and jumped to her own conclusions. She was like that, jumping to conclusions and making assumptions. She thought she was so smart. Maybe for a good reason. Sometimes she had the unfortunate knack of hitting things right on the head. It was all very annoying. Almost as annoying as Mia’s texts and emails. Cullen was going to have to say something. But he was only going to do that when he had the right words. He didn’t have them yet. He had to reframe.

His phone buzzed again as the game booted and loaded. He didn’t have to look to know it was Mia. He ignored it like he ignored the other seventeen messages she sent since the week began. The guilt at least, was going away. If only barely.

He was running around Whiterun when the doorbell rang.

He should have known then it wasn’t one his roommates, but he assumed it was at the time in one last blaze of ignorant bliss, and when the ring was followed by a knock, he assumed it was Rylen. He tended to forget his keys a lot and beat on the door when he did. “Coming,” he called, pausing the game and going over to the hall. One last moment of ignorant bliss. He would have held onto it longer had he known.

“Rylen,” he said, putting his hand on the handle. “You really should—”

“ _Cullen Rutherford_.”

There is a fear so instinctive and ingrained, a fear only known by little brothers who had domineering older sisters who had to ability to properly whoop others, for lack of a better word. Cullen saw his sister, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, and once again, he felt that fear. Actually, he didn’t just feel. His whole body went into flight or flight mode.

Fire in her eyes, she shook her head at him, disapproval, and utter anger steaming. He was afraid for his life.

She stared. “So,” she began, through gritted teeth. “Are you going to explain to me where the hell you’ve been and what you’ve been doing since leaving Ferelden?”  
Fight or flight, Cullen was in fight or flight. Flight won.

He closed the door and afterward Mia roared, banging on the door as he locked it, cursing his name and demanding he open up. His heart raced. He didn’t know why, his sister was no demon, and he wasn’t eight years old anymore, dealing with a sister who had an extraordinarily good punch. (to be fair, he asked her to do it, because he believed at eight years old that all templar training entailed was learning how to endure a punch.) He was a grown man. A grown man who had done a poor job of keeping contact with his family, but a grown man none the less. His sister wasn’t as scary as half of the shit he saw. At least for know. He kept that door closed any longer, that would probably change.

Cleo, surprisingly, didn’t bark. Since the whole thing began she stood dutifully by Cullen, but as Cullen moved to the back of the couch as Mia continued to bang on the door, she stayed by it, rising. Her tail wagging, she scratched at the door. The little traitor. It was worse than when she went to Lydia for ear and belly rubs. At least Cullen wasn’t too scared of Lydia.

Then, she whined. His dog whined and cried Did he have a choice after that? Would he ever not do what his damn dog wanted? He was the pack leader. He was setting a bad precedent by always bowing to her whims.

He couldn’t resist her puppy eyes.

He took a deep breath, and Cleo at his side, he opened the door. He was ready for the tempest. The tempest indeed came, and it was much worse than rain or sleet or now. No. It was much worse, because she ran into his arms, and started crying.

Cleo kept wagging her tail as Cullen held back his own repressed tears. Though Cleo’s tail and her quirked ears were her silent pleas of let loose Rutherford, Cullen still held them back. He did remember one thing though. He missed his sister. He missed them all.

It was at that point he realized he didn’t know what he had done to himself. But it was too late to turn back, wasn’t it?

 

* * *

 

 

There was no polite way of saying it any other way. Mia laid it into him and berated him, Cullen sipping his coffee as Cleo roamed from him to Mia, alternating who to get ear rubs from. Cullen couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it, but at the thirty-minute point, all Mia’s diatribe accomplished was finding new ways to call Cullen a stubborn asshole, and driving home the point he already knew: you don’t turn your back on your family.

His sister changed since last he saw her. It was years ago, when he visited home for Satinalia. He still wasn’t even a full templar at the time. He did however get some semblance of what she looked like in the interim, as well as Rosalie and Branson. He didn’t have a social media account, but Rylen did. She was taller and her face more angled and her green eyes more commanding in the photos, but photos could only show so much. She was tall. At least as tall as him. He was under no illusions either that she bench press his body weight.

“I wanted to contact you all, I really did,” Cullen said, lying through the skin of his teeth. “You just have to understand that—”

Mia slapped her hand on her thigh. “Understand what Cullen? What the bloody hell happened at that place you were stationed at that you had to run here and not tell anyone?”

“What the bloody hell happened that made you come all the way to Kirkwall?” Cullen fired back. “As a matter of fact, how did you even find me? How did you get here?”

“I took a plane stupid head, and Kinloch keeps records. I asked them where you went after the incident dumbass, and they sent me to Greenfell.”

The incident was what they called it, as if that softened what happened. If anything it made it more ominous. The incident. Always his name would be tied to that. Even with his family. How he hated it.

Quickly Cullen shook that memory away, a new thought striking him. Hardly anyone knew what Greenfell was exactly. Even he didn’t before he got there, though he heard of it. Did Mia know it was a rehabilitation facility? It’s pastures and trees and sunny disposition fooled people, but those who walked the halls as a patient could make no mistake.

“Cullen, what—”

“The chantry sends templars to Greenfell for a break,” Cullen stammered quickly. “It’s like a…vacation spot.”

She said nothing. He knew that look. She didn’t believe him. Not at all.

Her look softened somewhat. “There’s nothing wrong with needing help.”

He didn’t say anything to that. He was more thankful than he let on when she seemed to drop the subject.

In the silence that followed, he figured Mia must have gotten ahold of his new location and new phone number from Greenfell. That was when he changed it after all. He had to admit he was impressed. Greenfell was very tightlipped. She probably pried information out of them the same way she had been putting him on trial.

“I missed you,” she said. “We all did. We all looked forward to your letters when you were away. Then they stopped coming. Cullen—”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought it would be easier, I don’t know.”

“Easier?” she fired. “You moved to Kirkwall for pity’s sake, you weren’t blasted into outer space. It’s not like you were going on some mission where you’d never see us again.”  
“Mia—”

“Don’t ‘Mia’ me mister.” She wagged her finger at him. “Mum and Dad. It’s almost every day now. They keep saying how they miss you.”

Mom and Dad. “How are Mom and Dad?” he asked.

She was going to say something, then retracted, taking a large gulp of coffee. He prepared himself. He had to know, even if it was bad. He had to.

“Mia? I—"

“Mum is coping, but Dad is…not well.”

“What do you mean he’s not well?”

“He’s not remembering things.”

_Me? Maybe it’s for the better if he forgets me._

Cullen didn’t reply.

“You need to see him Cullen,” Mia said. “And Mum. She’s been worried sick about you. Worried you’ve been all alone and you don’t have anyone.”

“That’s not true,” Cullen said. “I’m not alone.”

“I know you have your dog. That’s nice that you have your dog like you always wanted, but that’s not what I meant. Everyone needs someone, and you’ve isolated yourself from us, that—"

“I live with some roommates,” Cullen said, interrupting her. “I’m not alone.”

“You can live with people and be alone.”

He knew that too well.

Mia leaned in, put her hand on his thigh. “All Mum wants—actually, all we all want to know is that your happy. You wanted to be a templar so badly, and it looks like your at least helping others with it now, which is great. Yeah Greenfell told me that too,” she added before he could ask. “But Cullen. We have to know that you’re happy.”

“I am happy!”

The lie hurt to tell. He told it anyway. “I am happy,” he said again, as if that would make it true. “Truly, and—I’m not alone. Not really. I have Cleo, and I have—” he thought of Rylen and Barris, two people almost like his brothers. He thought of Lydia. “I have people. Truly. So when you see Mom and Dad tell them that I’m alright, because—”

“Oh it is too hot and I do not want to get burned. Oh, hello Cleo, want some belly rubs? Hey wait a minute. Who are—?”

“Thank the Maker! You weren’t lying Cullen! Thank the Maker!”

He saw the pieces but did not put the pieces of the puzzle together. He saw Lydia enter, hair wet and red swimsuit hugging her curves in all the right places. He saw his dog run to get her belly rubs. He saw Mia stand and rush over to Lydia, taking her hand, shaking it and giving her a litany of thank you, thank you before taking her in her arms in an embrace. He saw Lydia’s bewildered expression as she awkwardly patted Mia’s back.

“Oh you,” Mia said, Lydia blinking as Mia cupped her face in her hands. “You are so beautiful. What has Cullen done to deserve such a pretty woman like you?”

“Watch musicals with me?” Lydia offered. “I don’t know what—”

“I am so happy that he as someone. Thank the maker he found someone.”

“Well he needed to share the apartment because rent was expensive.”

“Ha! I’ll bet,” Mia said with a laugh. “Damn Cullen. I hope you talk to your girlfriend more than you talk to your family because if she’s smart, and I know she is because I could tell when I first looked at her, she will not be having it, and—”

“Wait a minute, I’m not—”

“She’s not big on strangers touching her!”

Rushing over to Lydia he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his frame. Her swimsuit was dampening his clothes. She smelled like chlorine and sun and something distinctly her.

“That’s what it is, right sweetheart?” he asked, noticing how she would fit perfectly under his chin.

Did boys calls their girlfriends sweetheart? He didn’t know. Girlfriends certainly didn’t raise their eyebrows quizzically at their boyfriends. Well, maybe they did, but not in a situation like the one Cullen found himself in. He should have taken a step back. Wondered why he even put him, and her in that situation. But he didn’t, because there was one thing he realized he wanted during the entirety of the conversation he had with Mia.

He didn’t want to disappoint her. He didn’t want to disappoint his family. So when Mia made an assumption, he didn’t dispute it. He would not dispute it, not when Mia wanted to believe so wholeheartedly that Lydia Trevelyan was his girlfriend.

Maker. His girlfriend. Girl, that was more than a friend. A—

“Actually Cullen,” Lydia said, taking her arms off of him. That was when his heart sunk. She was going to tell the truth. It would all be over. Mia would hit him and he would disappoint her. Again. He would…

“Mia isn’t a stranger, not to me anyway,” Lydia said, clapping her hands together in joy. “It’s so good to see you. Cullen has told me a lot about you.”

And that was how it began. That was how the whole Maker damn thing began.


	4. Chapter 4

After the steaming pile of whatever the hell happened happened, Lydia must have spent a full ten minutes in the bathroom, staring at her summery and tanned reflection and wet hair with her mouth agape. Her mind raced with various thoughts, but the gist of them could be boiled down to the simple, time honored and universal _what the flying fuck?_

Well, more specifically, she wondered what the fuck Cullen did, and she wondered what the fuck she did. Because for as much as Cullen fucked up for saying the fucked up thing that she was his girlfriend, she didn’t have to agree. She could have told him he was crazy and they weren’t dating and he was lying. But nope. She did nothing simple it seemed. Nothing straightforward. Her goal was to make her life as crazy as possible.

She could hear Mia chattering from the living room, Cullen giving an occasional quip. He wasn’t forgiven yet, she made that abundantly clear, but from what Lydia could gather, Mia thought it was cute the couple adopted a dog together and named her Cleo, to which Cullen replied that he would never in a million years name a dog “Cleo,” and that was the name her previous owners gave her. He also made sure to mention Cleo was his dog that he got before she came into the picture. While that was going on, Lydia still stared at her reflection, repressing the urge to point and scold at herself. She figured she could go back, tell Mia that Cullen was certainly not her boyfriend, but if she was honest with herself, that woman seemed like exactly the one you wanted on your team, and exactly the one you didn’t want to make an enemy out of. In her wildest imagination, she saw herself fess up, and Mia Rutherford shake her senseless, demanding to know how she could even be that dumb for going along with her dumb brother’s dumb lie. And what was it even for? What was he trying to prove?

If she was going to fess up, she had to do it quickly. She changed from her wet swimsuit to a long, olive green summer dress, brushing out her hair as a way to calm her rapidly beating heart. A long time passed. Maybe too long. She heard from the living room that Mia flew up from Fereldan, got a rental car, and was staying at a hotel. Some dedication, Lydia thought, and at that point, she came to the realization that the most painless and easiest thing to do would be to continue to pretend and go along with it. She managed to impress herself earlier with her acting chops, (but that wasn't really too surprising, she had been a decent actress after all) how hard could it be to continue the charade for a little whole longer? After Mia left she could grill it into Cullen for being such a sad, strange little man. And a week later, perhaps two, if Mia called and asked how they were, Cullen could explain that they broke up. Easy as that. No problems. People broke up all the time. In Mia’s mind, Cullen and Lydia could be one of the other million couples that broke up due to irreconcilable differences, Cullen and Lydia’s being Cullen was an ass that hated musicals, and Lydia was only an occasional ass who loved musicals.

After a quick pep talk, Lydia somewhat calmed herself sufficiently, but she still braced herself when she emerged from the bathroom. She braced herself like she expected a hail of bullets, but what she received in return was a warm smile from Mia, and an awkward smile from Cullen.

“Babe,” he greeted, not the confident and casual way that couples did, but in rather the awkward way an actor afraid of his lines would say it. Maker. He even waved. It was all too awkward how he was acting. Lydia, felt very awkward. She had to salvage it, but when she looked at Mia, half expecting her to pick something up, she was unmoved.

“You’re back,” he announced stupidly.

“How observant of you…” Lydia said, blinking at him and thinking at least she looked somewhat charming, even threw her sarcastic quip she couldn’t help. She didn’t like what he called her though, babe. She would have to talk to him later about it. Even if the whole thing wasn’t permanent, she could still tell him how she didn’t care for that term.

“Now while I’ll admit I’m at least happy you’re not alone Cullen,” Mia said, putting her authoritative voice back on. “I am still very, very angry at you. You couldn’t at least give us a call?”

“Well, the thing about that is—”

“It’s no fault of mine,” Lydia interjected, knowing she had to cover her tracks. “I told the stubborn fool he couldn’t alienate himself from his family.”

“When did you do that?” Cullen asked, and Lydia could hit him for breaking the ruse. “I don’t remember.”

“Men don’t remember anything they don’t want to hear,” Lydia played off. “You know how it is.”

“That was our dad,” Mia said. “Ugh. Dad. Poor, poor dad."

Mia's sudden tone change was jarring. She looked away, towards the window, and when Lydia glanced at Cullen, she could see that his face had fallen as well. She suspected the worst.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “Mia, are you here because…did something happen to…?”

“Yes and no,” she replied quickly, assuring her. “Dad’s fine now, but the doctors are worried, and Mum is stressed.”

“How is Mum doing?” Cullen asked.

“Managing. The same. She misses you. She loves us all, but she always said you were the most like her. Right down to the ignoring your family part.”

Cullen sighed, knowing Mia would harp on about that for the rest of his natural life.

“Enough about that though,” she eventually chimed, motioning for them all to sit down. “I’m curious about you Lydia. Are you from Kirkwall?”

“No, I’m from Ostwick originally,” she began, going over to sit next to Cullen on the couch while Mia plopped on the chair. Simultaneously she thought of a way to embellish and stretch the whole truth of her rather salacious story. She also realized she would have to feign some sort of intimacy between herself and Cullen, so instead of taking her usual seat a few feet away from him, she inched closer. Their legs almost touched. It didn’t faze him. Or it didn't seem to.

“Ostwick eh?” Mia asked. “I heard it’s nice there.”

“Like Kirkwall it’s a seaside town,” she explained. “But I came here because Kirkwall university is growing rapidly and has an established Literature department.”

Mia nodded in approval. “How did you two met Cullen?”

“Oh, I…it’s a long story,” Cullen said, rubbing the back of his neck. “See, what happened was—”

Shit, he was going to blow the cover. “I was at the beach,” Lydia interjected. “It was a few months ago and I was tanning and swimming with a few of my friends. Cullen caught my eye because I saw that he had a very large and adorable mabari. But what made me want to go up and talk to him was that he was trying to teach his dog to dodge the ball rather than catch.”

Mia laughed. “Good grief Cullen, really?”

“Cleo is a war dog,” he defended. “Right Cleo?”

Cleo rose from her little pillow bed by the TV when Cullen called her. He patted his thigh, asking her if she was a war dog or not, and her answer was not to bark in affirmation, but rather, her answer was to flop on her back and demand a belly rub. Cullen was not amused.

“Yes, a fierce and mighty war dog,” Lydia agreed. “Look at how ready she is to march off to battle.”

When he glared at her, clearly not amused, Lydia whacked his shoulder, and though he tried not to rub at the spot, he did anyway. She realized they were acting more like what they were: annoyed roommates rather than lovers. But maybe all lovers ended up being in the end was annoyed roommates anyway. Halfway into her last relationship she was about ready to throttle Asher out the door. He was lucky she didn’t, frankly. And maybe it was a bit of genius. If they acted too much in love, it would have been more surprising when the eventual “break up” was revealed. At least now it wouldn’t be too difficult to believe.

Then Mia smiled at the two of them, and Lydia, smiling back, felt a little guilty for swindling her, because her smile truly wasn’t a forced smile. There was something about Mia, especially when she wasn’t angry, that Lydia decided was rather charming. Like Cullen her hair was golden blonde, though hers was long and past her shoulders and very wavy. She had green eyes that were more round than almond, and a long, prominent nose with apple shaped cheeks. She had a widow’s peak underneath wispy bangs, and she wore her cream-colored jeans and white, long sleeved and billowy shirt well. She was neither thin nor plump, but built like an athlete. And indeed when she hugged Lydia, she could tell that the woman was not afraid to lift weights at the gym.

“So how long have you been living together?” Mia asked.

Lydia looked at Cullen. He rubbed the back of his neck, again. “Well, uh—”

“Oh you know, about a month actually,” Lydia said, playing it off with a laugh.

“You talk for both of you?” Mia asked, more teasing than mocking.

Cullen scoffed. “Most women do.”

“Cullen!” Mia scolded, “don’t generalize women. Don’t generalize anyone. That is a mark of uncivilized society and lack of empathy.”

Lydia shared Mia’s sentiments. “You know better than that,” she said to Cullen, also scolding.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” he muttered. “I apologize.”

She took his hand. For a moment she thought about kissing it. That’s what couples did right? Didn’t she do that once to Asher, kiss his hand? Enjoy his company once?

She settled for a squeeze and eyelash bat as she assured him it was alright. “We all get better every day, you know?”

He blushed.

When Mia chuckled, observing the two, Lydia was more convinced than ever she should win an acting award. Inspired, she was compelled to be bolder. “I’ll never forget how Cullen asked us to move in together. We were on the beach, and he said to me it was sensible for us to move in, because we got along so well.”

“Cullen has always been the most sensible,” Mia said.

“Hmm, yes,” he agreed. “Actually though, it was my other roommates who suggested it.”

Mia shifted. “Wait, you have other roommates?”

“Rylen and Barris, yes. I lived with them, then Lydia came in as well.”

Mia’s eyes narrowed. “You two don’t want your own place?”

“It’s on the horizon someday,” Lydia said. “Besides, I do so enjoy cooking for all three of them.”

“Cullen can cook just fine, I’m sure. Have him do it sometimes. We don’t live in a generalized society where the woman has to cook after all.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Cullen quipped, biting in his remark. “Fine. I’ll make Ferelden lamb and pea stew.”

“It’s the middle of summer. We can’t have stew now, it’s too hot.” Lydia protested.

“My cooking repertoire is limited.”

“If you can read, I’ve got news: you can cook.”

“Mia!” Lydia exclaimed. “That’s exactly what I said!”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Oh no, there’s two of you.”

“Well, great minds think alike,” Mia said, winking at Lydia before turning to Cullen again. “I’m sure all of your roommates would enjoy something new for a change,” she added. “By the way, I hope you don’t plan on taking them to the wedding.”

“Wait, what?” Cullen jerked upward. “Wedding? Who…?”

“This was the whole point of coming here!” Mia exclaimed, clapping her hands. “I forgot to mention it earlier. Guess I got distracted.”

“Mia, I think the other point of coming here was to also give Cullen a piece of your mind," Lydia said.

She nodded. “Very true, but this was the other important thing. Branson is getting married in a month.”

Cullen’s mouth dropped. “Bran, is…what?”

“Well he met a girl, they fell in love, and do I really need to explain this?” Mia asked. “Her name is Carolina. She’s very pretty and very sweet, and I’ll be surprised if this wedding isn’t happening because he knocked her up. But in a month they’re tying it. Tying it in Honnleath too, by the lake we used to play by.”

“You mean my lake that you always used to bother me at,” Cullen huffed.

Lydia stared at him. “Last time I checked, no one has a monopoly over public property.”

Mia regarded Lydia fondly. “I like her more and more,” she said to Cullen.

Lydia couldn’t help but feel a wee bit of pride in that. There was always a pride in impressing the relations of your beloved, even if your “beloved,” wasn’t truly your “beloved.”

Cullen meanwhile, had gone blank, and when he tried to speak, Mia cut him off.

“Of course you have to come,” she said. “And bring Lydia.”

He pursed his lips. “Maybe it’s best if I don’t come.”

“Cullen,” Lydia said, “He’s your brother.”

“I’m fairly certain he hates me.”

Mia shrugged. “Well, you’re not wrong, but—”

“Then why would I come?”

For the first time, his tone was utterly biting. Up until that point he had been tired and annoyed, but not what Lydia could deem rude. That all changed.

“Why would I even come if Bran hates me?” He asked. “I’m sure Rose hates me, and Mum and Dad. There’s no point. Hell Mia, you probably hate me too.”

“I hate what you did,” she said, as gently as she could. “We all do. But we don’t hate _you._ We love you. You’re our brother. And yes, maybe Branson and Rose are a little…ornery over what happened. But we’re all going over early, staying at the Honnleath inn for a week before the wedding. I’m sure there will be an extra room for you and Lydia. Come and make it up. Let’s all be a family again.”

Lydia nodded. The plan sounded sensible. “Yeah, go and make it up.”

“I have work,” Cullen said, feebly as he rubbed a spot on his forehead.

“Get out of it.”

“You don’t ‘get out of it’ with Meredith.”

“Then quit.”

“I can’t quit!”

“Cullen, you have decent references I’m sure. People will hire you.”

He didn’t respond. “Mia…I…” he sighed. “I don’t want to go.”

She look like she had been struck. “What do you mean, you don’t want to go?”

“I don’t belong there.”

“That is your family,” Lydia pointed out, wondering if it was even her place to say anything. Then again, he had kind of made it her place when he told the fib. Tentatively, she put her hand on his thigh, the easiest place to reach. “I think you do belong there.”

“After what happened, I doubt they’ll be welcoming.”

“Cullen. Dad still remembers you. That might not be the case soon.”

“Dammit Mia, maybe that’s a good thing if he doesn’t remember how I disappointed you all!”

Things, until that point, were fine. Maybe even easy. Surprisingly easy, all things considered. Yet Cullen snapped, and everything changed. Mia stilled, not even blinking or breathing. Cullen knew he had crossed a line, and began to go at it again—rub the back of his neck. Even Cleo rose, her eyes seeming to shift from one human to the next. And then there was Lydia, who wanted nothing more than to run, but was in such a world of awkwardness that she couldn’t even twiddle her thumbs, and she couldn’t even find a way to peel her hand off of Cullen’s thigh. It was pretty strong, she noticed. Sinewy.

“Cullen,” Mia said, more gentle than angry, more sad and sullen than scolding. “That isn’t true. Please don’t—”

“Mia. Please.”

His eyes pleaded with her. Sad eyes. There was another long moment of silence, and then Mia, who came in strong and confident, seemed utterly deflated.

Lydia had to do something. She rose. “Mia—”

“It was so good to meet you Lydia,” she said, also rising. “And, it was good to see you again Cullen. I’ll call you later, okay? And please think about it.”

“I’m not going.”

“Cullen.” Mia said. “You—”

“I’m sorry.”

She wanted to say something else, but whatever it was, it remained unsaid. “Goodbye brother,” she muttered, heading to the door. “I hope I see you again soon.”

Mia closed the door behind her. Lydia, feeling like a big pile of shit, took one long look at her “boyfriend.” He was bent over, hands clasped together, and even as Cleo placed her paw on his knee, he was unresponsive. Lost in his own thoughts. Lost in shame.

She didn’t want to leave things as they were. She made a decision then, damn what Cullen thought.

She leapt out of the apartment, stopping Mia before she reached the parking lot.

“Lydia,” Mia said, surprised but happy to see her.

“Hey. I’m sorry about that. He, well…Bad days, good days, right?”

She sighed. “What happened to him?” she asked. “He’s changed so much. And I know it’s been years, and people change all the time…but…what did the templar order do to him?”

Lydia thought of the lyrium. How often he closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and did a myriad of other things. She said none of it.

“How could he want to turn his back on his own family and isolate himself?” Mia asked no one in particular. “I mean, he has you, so he’s not totally isolated, but—”

“I don’t know Mia,” Lydia admitted. “But it’s up to him.”

“Are there better days?”

She nodded, not because she didn’t want to hurt Mia, though that was true, but because she truly did believe there could be better days.

“He went through things, I know,” Mia said, breaking the silence. “He doesn’t have to talk about them, but—”

“Yeah,” Lydia said. “He doesn’t have to cut off his family either and live in total solitude.”

“Will you talk to him?”

“I’ll try,” she promised.

Mia gave Lydia another long hug, one where they shifted back and forth. It was a hug that made Lydia feel, that had this all been real, she would be welcomed right into the family.

“Also,” Mia dug in her purse. “Can I have your number? I want to make sure Cullen’s all right, and I have a feeling if I text him as often as I did before, he might change numbers.”

Lydia gave her number without any hesitation. Mia left soon after, waving as she got into her car. It was too bad they didn’t have anymore room in the apartment, Lydia would have offered to let her stay over to save money. But she suspected Cullen would be uncomfortable. She also wouldn’t wish anyone to sleep on that decrepit, nasty couch. Especially not Mia.

She was prepared for Cullen’s wrath as she walked back into the apartment. So much so, that the sight of him in the same position, looking completely defeated and drained, was a million times worse.

She sat down on the couch next to him, this time a respectable distance away. “So…” she began, “Are we going to—”

“It was stupid, I know,” he snapped. “I shouldn’t have lied.”

“Actually, that’s not what I wanted to talk about,” she said, though she would certainly talk about that later. “I wanted to talk about your family.”

“You heard what she said. Bran and Rose hate me.”

“Do I have to repeat what Mia said? They hate what you did, but they don’t hate you. You can make it up with your actions.”

He didn’t believe her. “I am not going to Bran’s wedding. Plus, Mia will tell everyone we’re together, and—ugh.” Exasperated, he fell against the couch. “I’m sorry I did that. Mia saw you, she made an assumption, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. I’ve disappointed her so much already.”

“It’s fine. Look, we’ll just text her next week, or in the next two weeks, and we’ll say we broke up.”

He nodded. “Fine.”

“But really Cullen, you should—”

“No. I’m not going.”

“But your dad. Hell, your entire family—”

“What does it matter?”

If he really thought that, maybe he shouldn’t go. Love was effort. And it was easier to turn your back when things got hard. Cullen turned his back, and repairing, especially doing it now, maybe that was too much work for him.

“By the way,” she said, “I hate being called ‘babe.’ Don’t do it.”

She went for a long walk on the beach after that, and when she came back, Cullen was gone, but Cleo was there, and as she sat on Lydia’s lap, they both mourned the loss.


	5. Chapter 5

Cullen spent a great portion of his youth before the templars in a competition of sorts with Mia. Every game of chess he played with her was tallied, and he was proud to say that eventually he managed to outwit her and have more winning tallies than she. They also did the same thing with arm and thumb wrestling. She may have had more tallies, but that was only because he let her win most of the time. She didn’t believe that was the case, as she was always willing to boast her own superiority. Didn’t mean it wasn’t the truth, though hindsight made Cullen realize it probably was.

He remembered what his mother used to say. _You both have your strengths and weaknesses. No need to be jealous at all, or have competitions with each other._ Her children, however, only listened so far.

Perhaps that was the reason he was in the kitchen at eight in the morning the day after Mia’s arrival before heading off to the university, standing over a bowl of pancake batter in what he called an attempt at making breakfast for his roommates. Out of all the things Mia said to him, about Rose and Bran hating that he isolated himself, about his father’s affliction, and Bran’s wedding, it was her snide comment about him not cooking for his “girlfriend” and roommates that burned in his mind. Not that the other things didn’t bother him, because it damn well did, but focusing on that helped the other things be not so forefront. Because of his stupid fixation, he spent the previous night on allrecipes.com, looking for easy pancake recipes. The woman in the video the website had made it all look easy, but his batter seemed to be too thick, and when he got his ladle out and poured a deformed circle on the gridle, it wasn’t doing anything. The whole thing was turning out to be nothing more than big mess. As things usually went.

He was about ready to dump the batter down the garbage when Lydia Trevelyan in cheetah print pajamas and messy bedhead scampered in with her arms crossed, a quirked eyebrow, and half grin.

“You have pancake batter on your shirt,” she said.

He wiped it away quickly as she came over and inspected the lone pancake in the griddle, that was much more of a lopsided oval than circle.

“Need help?” Lydia asked.

“No. It’s not a perfect circle, but it’s fine.”

“It’s not bubbling, it should be bubbling.”

“The video I watched didn’t have bubbling,” he lied.

“No,” she insisted. “It needs to bubble. That’s how you know it’s cooking. This one isn’t because you didn’t turn the stove on.”

“ _Oh_.”

Begrudgingly he came over to the stove. She pointed at the pancake as she flipped on the stove, and just like it did in the video, it started to bubble.

She got out a spatula and turned it over. “See?” she asked. “Golden. You have to wait for that before you turn it over.”

“The video mentioned that.”

“Here, I’ll help.”

About fifteen minutes later, Cullen pouring the batter in the griddle and Lydia turning them over, they had malformed pancakes for everyone. They hardly spoke, other than finding ways to coordinate working together in the tiny kitchen, and he was thankful she didn’t mention Mia. He certainly didn’t want to talk about it.

At least, she didn’t mention it at first. After all the pancakes were cooked, she leaned against the counter, and he got the feeling she was about to lay it into him.

“About what happened…”

“Can we…not?” he asked, far more rudely than he intended, before quickly adding that he was sorry. “It’s just… that whole thing wasn’t easy. At all.”

She crossed her arms. “I was just going to say that I really like Mia. That was it.”

“Oh. Well.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m…I’m glad.”

She went to the fridge, getting the butter and syrup out. It was now or never, he realized.

“Umm, Lydia?”

“Mhmm?”

“I’m…sorry for that. I didn’t know she was coming, but…thank you.”

“It wasn’t really a problem. You’re welcome.”

She said it so nonchalantly, as nonchalantly as she would have acknowledged taking out the trash. “Why did you do it?” he asked. “You could have said no.”

“Well, I figured it wouldn’t be that hard, you know?”

“No,” he admitted. “I mean, I had trouble.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anyway, it’s over now.”

“Yeah,” Cullen muttered. “It’s over now.”

He hoped she wouldn’t berate him, wouldn’t give him the lecture he so desperately needed. She spared him, setting the table, and by the time Rylen and Barris woke up, they all had a proper breakfast.

“This is really good Lydia,” Rylen complimented, downing a glass of milk along with the pancakes that he had put an absurd amount of maple syrup on it.

“Yeah Lydia. We really appreciate this, you know,” Barris added.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” she said with a charming smile and charming eyelash bat. “But I should mention that Cullen started this breakfast. I just assisted.”

The two were mildly impressed as Lydia explained all that she had to do was add some extra vanilla in the batter that was maybe a little too thick, but otherwise everything turned out fine.

“Golden and fluffy,” she commented, putting more butter on her pancake. “Good job Cullen.”

“Well, at least I’m good at something, right?” Cullen asked.

Rylen and Barris didn’t notice Lydia’s frown.

 

* * *

 

 

About an hour and a half later, Cullen was dressed and inside the lecture hall, as Meredith’s steely blue eyes scanned the room. Thirty or so new templars, Rylen and Barris amongst them, watched with a quiet horror as Meredith held nothing back.

“At all times,” she began, neither moving nor fidgeting, but remaining a wall of ice that would not break, “the mage must be watched. There is never a moment that the mage is not under temptation, never a moment that they cannot break their resolve. Even the strongest amongst them have fallen. They have taken whole towns, whole cities with them.”

She paused her speech, and when she did, Cullen realized she was glancing right at him. Sitting in the first row at the edge of the table, arms crossed and half listening, Meredith didn’t even so much as blink as she gestured for Cullen to add to the discussion. Because of course, he would know all about it.

But there was no sense in reliving his own horror for their benefit. Meredith painted a picture that was grim enough. She already instilled enough fear. He shook his head. He had no desire to add anything.

“My assistant seems he doesn’t wish to speak today,” she quipped, eliciting a few awkward chuckles from the audience. “No matter. As I am sure you all know…” she briefly glanced at Cullen again. “Kinloch Hold. The Circle of Ferelden.”

The sound of silence was deafening. Cullen felt the loud drum of his heart.

“You might have heard of what happened,” she said, though it had become obvious that everyone knew what happened. “You might have heard how the mages all lost control. How the templars lost their lives, and—”

It was unprofessional to leave. Cullen didn’t care as he rose, careful not to draw too much attention to the fact that he was leaving. They noticed anyway, because of course they did. The collective stares of the recruits followed him as the door opened and closed far too loudly for his taste. He figured he would go to the bathroom, get a drink, and by the time he returned to the lecture hall, Meredith would be done. Or maybe he would just wait until the training period began before he came back. She would give her characteristic stare of mocking disapproval, but at that point, he frankly didn’t care. He wasn’t going to listen to it. Not when he was the one that lived through it. No one, not even Meredith, would make him live through that night again.

Of course, everyone knew he was involved with what happened at Kinloch. That’s why they all stared, a person leaving the lecture hall to piss wasn’t anything exciting anyway. Still, it was better for Cullen to pretend they didn’t know. Forcing the mental gymnastics in his head was far easier than coming to terms, or admitting.

Not thinking of it. That was the way. The easiest. 

“Rutherford.”

The gravelly voice stopped him in his tracks. Reluctantly he turned, and forced himself to give Samson a acknowledging nod, curt as it was. Often Samson came around the offices to beg Meredith to take him back into templar training, but arriving and stopping by while she was lecturing was a first. Cullen had to hold back his eye roll and snort. Samson was certainly not the person he wanted to see. At all.

Cullen and Samson weren’t really acquainted, other than Samson knowing Cullen was Meredith’s “messenger boy.” Cullen though was around the offices when Meredith called him in and announced he was officially expelled. He was also around the past three times that Samson came back and demanded Meredith he be put back in. The wall of ice that was Meredith Stannard however, remained unmoved.

Expulsion had not treated Samson well, Cullen could see that. For however bad Cullen looked, with his gaunt face, purple shadows under his eye, and form that was getting progressively more like a bean pole, Samson looked a million times worse. Cullen cared not for gossip, but he heard offhand off of certain circles that Samson was receiving illegal, un-chantry sanctioned lyrium. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair greasy, and the black t-shirt he was wearing looked like it had avoided the washing machine. His jeans were just as bad, and his shoes completely tattered. Cullen wondered if he was looking at a later version of himself.

Samson stood a little too close for his taste. Cullen involuntarily recoiled. The man snorted.

“Samson,” he said, more in warning than in greeting.

“Rutherford,” he announced again. “Where’s Meredith?”

“Not around.”

He wasn’t dumb enough to be fooled. Cullen stood in front of the door to the lecture hall.

“Come on,” he said, expecting Cullen to move. “Come on. Let me in.”

“You know what she’ll say.”

“I just want to talk to her.”

“She won’t change her mind. Your expulsion was final.”

“I was expelled for giving out a love letter.”

Along with a slew of other matters and offenses, major and minor. Cullen wasn’t around to witnesses them all, but Meredith kept a list, and the final offense was finding out Samson was, ironically, the messenger boy that gave out a mage named Maddox’s love letters. At the time Cullen didn’t ask what happened to Maddox. Didn’t mean he didn’t have a suspicion. He just didn’t want it confirmed.

“Rutherford, maybe if you tell her that I’ve changed—”

“Have you? I heard the rumors. Are they true at all?”

“Consider yourself in my place. Would you have done the same?”

“No,” Cullen said. “I wouldn’t have.”

“Wait a minute… _who the bloody hell are you_?”

Three times. Three times Cullen had to blink to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, and that it really was Mia standing there, at his university, with her hands on her hips, demanding to know who Samson was. He would have asked how Mia knew where his class was and where he would be, but then again, the woman did track him down to Kirkwall already. It wasn’t preposterous to think she would also manage to find his class.

He was still however, taken aback. “Mia—”

She held out her hand. “Hush Cullen,” she said. “I wasn’t going to go to the airport today without a last few words. And I have a few words planned for you, don’t get me wrong. But first of all…” She stuck her finger out at Samson. “I would like to know who the bloody hell you are, and why you’re accosting my brother like that.”

“Nobody,” Samson said.

“Hey nobody. I’m his sister. He may not want to admit it, and he may ignore me, but yes, I am his sister. And you need to leave.”

Samson remained unmoved. So too, did Mia. “Go,” she barked. “Now. He can talk to you later”

“Sure,” Samson scoffed, now more mildly inconvenienced than angry. “Later.”

As he walked away, it was that point that Cullen didn’t know what was more surprising, the fact that Mia showed up or the fact that she managed to get Samson away.

“Well,” she said, pulling her hair in a ponytail. “That is a very unfortunate looking person.”

“Mia—”

“We’re talking.”

He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to go run to his room, grab Cleo’s pink bone, and have her fetch it. Hell, he would have rather been swimming than where he was.

“How about I buy you a coffee?” she suggested. “Would that be better?”

He frowned. “I had coffee this morning.”

“And once you’re over the age of twenty, you can have as many damn coffees as you want at any hour of the day.”

“I won’t be able to sleep later,” he insisted stubbornly, and while that was damn true, it wasn’t true for the reason given.

“It’s morning somewhere. Come on Cullen.”

She grabbed his hand and dragged him along the university. Halfway to the student union, Cullen realized how potentially embarrassing that whole thing could look, and simply followed her along. Once they were in the union center she pulled out a chair for him. He waited, drumming his hands on the table as she bought the two of them a large coffee. When she came back with the coffee as well as little packets of sugar and cream, she nodded approvingly.

“Glad you didn’t run,” she said.

“I thought about it, believe me,” Cullen admitted. “But that never worked before.”

She grinned. “I’m so pleased you remember I can run fast.”

“I can remember a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Mia. I know your tricks. You’re trying to get me to admit that I miss you all.”

“Come to the damn wedding.”

“ _No_.”

If she was mad, she hid it well this time, as she poured the cream into her coffee. Cullen offered her the packets she gave him.

“You take your coffee black?” Mia asked, and when he nodded at her, her smile broadened, and she commented that he was just like their father.

“Please don’t mention Dad,” he pleaded. Out of all the things he couldn’t take, that one was the worst.

She took a sip. “Sorry, but how do you think we feel? You know, the people who actually see him?”

“Stop guilting me,” he snapped.

“Stop whining.”

“I do not whine.”

“Cullen Rutherford. Need I remind you of: “ _Mum, she’s touching me! Ahhhh!’_ every time I came near you when you were five? And—”

“Please, stop. I won’t whine anymore, so long as you don’t do anymore reenactments. All right?”

“Deal.”

They sipped their coffee in silence. For a moment it was comfortable, strangely so. And when she spoke again, chewing out about how nice the university was, Cullen had to agree with her. The union center was large and open, with several different sandwich shops and other assorted goods, with various red and white banners around with _Go Hawks_ embroidered on them. Kirkwall University in general was an open campus, and if one didn’t mind the steps, it was pleasant. So Mia too said.

It was all normal, brother and sister bonding. It was odd, but nice. He forgot for a little. He forgot, until three simple words were uttered.

“You should go.”

“Why would I go where I’m hated?” he asked, simple as that, and completely unmoved.

“As I said before, you are not hated. What you did is. But you go, you profusely apologize, you bring your girlfriend and introduce her, and everyone is happy. We’ll welcome you with open arms.”

“Oh…right. My girlfriend.”

His voice wavered. Mia noticed. “Something wrong with the two of you?”

“No,” he lied. “All is good. Made her pancakes this morning.”

“Good. She deserves that. Also, you better hold onto her. Or else…”

“Ehehehe…of course, _of course_ …”

Oh Maker, he couldn’t wait to run to the bathroom and have a word with himself about…matters.

Mia stared right into his eyes. “Come on Cullen,” she goaded. “Come to the wedding.”

“Mia...”

“ _Oh_ …”

From the way she looked at him, eyed him up and down, he knew she had something stirring. Knew, at least in her mind, she figured him out.

He was right. “It’s a pride thing, I see,” she said.

He shook his head. Preposterous.  “No. I simply feel that you all would be much happier without me.”

“Part of you thinks that, yes, and it is true,” Mia said, too damnably reasonable. “But you just can’t bare to get berated by Rose, or Mum, or Bran.”

“After you, I can handle anything.”

“You haven’t seen Rose. Or Mum for that matter. Her temper as of late is intense. Not that I blame here.”

Cullen couldn’t blame her either, even though hard as it was to believe that out of anyone, Mum was getting a temper. Mum was always so mild mannered, reasonable. In fact, she was the one that told Cullen to follow his dream. They just didn’t know at the time it would turn to shit.

He decided though, he would throw Mia one bone. “Fine,” he said. “It’s a pride thing. At least in part.”

She reached across the table and patted his hand. “Very good,” she said. “I am proud of you for taking this step, because I know it was difficult for you to admit that fact, being a leo and all.”

“A what?”

“A leo,” she explained offhand. “You know, astrology.”

“Not really.”

“Oh well. It’s more common with non Thedosians.”

He groaned. “I have enough things to worry about here, in Thedas.”

“Something interesting, that’s all.”

“Yes, interesting,” he deadpanned, though inwardly, he considered what she said. He considered, because so help him, she was right.

In part, it was pride.

He imagined it, walking into Honnleath at the old inn, and have his entire family stare at him. He imagined talking and trying to explain, before realizing there was no explanation. He thought of telling them the truth about what happened, and have them all pity him, think him broken. He couldn’t have that. He didn’t want to be pitied. He didn’t want someone to look at him and see someone broken.

He also didn’t want to be not forgiven.

But there was Mia, seeming to read his mind. There was Mia, who looked at him, and said that if he came, he would be forgiven.

“I’ll talk to them,” she promised. “I can’t promise they won’t be at least a little angry, but mostly, they want to know you’re alright.”

“What if I’m not alright Mia?” he asked.

She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. Whatever he didn’t want to feel before with the multitude of utter fucking shit he had to endure his entire life, he was feeling then. It was overwhelming, and it was too much, but he felt it, and he realized that if he allowed himself to think of it before, perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad.

But Mia was there. Mia was there for him. That made it better.

“Hey bro,” she said, gently and soothingly, “Bran and Rose…you’re still their big brother. They looked up to you, like I’m sure you looked up to me.”

“Only when you were nice to me.”

She chuckled, and he chuckled. There he was again, trying jokes. “I was nice to you when you weren’t a little punk,” she said.

“Look. I just don’t want—”

“It’s going to be fine. I know it. You just have to go and show them you’re still the big brother they remember.”

Could he do that? Every day he felt as though he was slipping a little more, slipping into someone he didn’t recognize. Every day, he wanted that blue vial a little more. His throat burned a little more, his nightmares worse. If he let it, would he forget what he was like before?

He made up his mind then.

He would not turn into someone he didn’t want to be.

Mia was right. It was a pride thing, but it was also something else. He really, really, wanted to see his family.

“I’ll text you all the details,” she said. “You’ll have to get off work probably as well.”

He nodded, gulping. He was not looking forward to telling Meredith. At all.

When Mia smiled, he realized it was the broadest, happiest smile he had seen from her since she arrived in Kirkwall. “I can’t wait to go home, tell them you’re coming,” she said. “They’ll be so happy. Maybe Mum will finally smile.”

Mum always had a nice smile, he remembered. Especially when all her children were around. Especially when she was around Dad.

Cullen and Mia left the student union not long after, Cullen feeling unusually buoyant as they walked side by side. He was starting to convince himself that maybe, maybe, this whole thing wouldn’t be so bad. He thought that maybe, he could reconnect. He could be happy again.

“So what were you going to do for the rest of the day?” Mia asked.

Cullen shrugged. Meredith likely called training by now, and she was probably wondering where he was. “I might go back to the apartment,” he said. “Swim? I don’t know.”

“You don’t swim,” Mia pointed out. “Or at least, you didn’t used to.”

“Maybe Lydia will show me how.”

“Better late than never to learn, right?”

She gave him one last hug, patting his back as they swayed back and forth. “I’ll see you soon, all right?”

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride back?” he asked.

“That’s thoughtful of you, but I have a rental.”

She walked to the parting lot. Cullen watched her leave, waving when she turned around. She waved back, cheerfully and jovially.

“By the way!” He called. “I can take my dog, right?”

“Yes Cullen!” Mia called. “You can take your dog.”

“Good, because I’m the only one who knows how to take care of her.”

Mia laughed, putting on her sunglasses. “Tell Lydia I said hello. We can’t wait to have you two!”

You two.

_You two._

_You…two._

She expected the two of them. She was going to go home, and—

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to run. Either way, the wind was knocked out of him, and the only thought he could formulate was shit, shit, shit, and more shit.

What the hell was he going to tell Lydia when he got home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story looks like it might turn out a lot longer than I thought. That being said, it might take a while for the smut. 
> 
> Thank you though for reading :)


	6. Chapter 6

When Cullen came home, he sat alone with Cleo in his empty apartment, absent-mindedly petting her and wondering how long it would be until Lydia came home. He changed too from his work clothes to something more comfortable—his Journey t-shirt. He even played “Lights,” a few times. Unfortunately it didn’t make him feel any better.

He braced himself when he heard the door unlock, but deflated when it was just Rylen and Barris, sweaty from training, and announcing what Cullen already knew: Meredith was pissed.

“I get it mate,” Rylen said. “I won’t mention what happened, I won’t ask how you were involved with the mess in Ferelden’s Circle, but—”

Cullen sighed. “There’s…uh…something I need to tell you both. Something else.”

“Sounds bad,” Barris noted.

Cullen snorted. “Well, yes. But…uh…”

Rylen and Barris were not merely amused. They were astounded by the news, thought it was hilarious, and the only thing they didn’t do was roll on the floor in laughter. Then, at the end of the story, in unison they asked him the same thing Cullen had been asking himself since the whole damn thing began. They asked what the bloody hell he planned to do.

“That’s cool of her, to go along with it initially,” Rylen said. “Because if that were me, I would have said you were crazy and you should fuck off.”

“Think she would go with me?” Cullen asked.

Rylen shrugged. “She did it before, maybe she would do it again.”

“That was for one day though. Not even a day, an afternoon,” Barris pointed out. “How can you ask her to go along with it for an entire week or two around your family? Not to mention she has her job. It’s not really fair of you to do something like this to her.”

Rylen scratched his head. “He’s right. You really can’t ask someone to do this. It’s—”

“I know it’s wrong!” Cullen said. “I know, but you don’t understand. Mia, and my family…they wanted the best for me. I can’t break their hearts.”

“You can be happy without being in a relationship,” Barris said.

“But Mia really likes Lydia.”

“That’s not an excuse. Look mate, it would have been easier to tell the truth before it became this. But you just had to—”

“First of all,” Cullen interjected, throwing his finger up. “Lydia played along. She could have called me crazy at the time, but she didn’t. As you pointed out, Rylen. Second of all, Lydia really liked Mia too. And third of all…” he sighed. He ran out of things to say. “You’re right,” he conceded. “But it’s too late to undo it now.”

Rylen shrugged. “Not necessarily.”

“So I tell them I lied. If they didn’t think I was crazy before they will now. Not only that, they’ll think I’m a creep. No. I don’t think so. I won’t do that again. That’s all they thought at Greenfell, that I was crazy, and creepy, and…no. Just no.”

He shivered. He didn’t want to remember. “I won’t let that happen again,” he said.

They were silent for a minute. Barris though, finally, spoke up. “Mate—”

“Ugh. Hope everyone had a better day than me, because I just got laid off.”

All fell silent as Lydia came in, locking the door behind her and kneeling to greet Cleo. “Stupid, stupid people,” she muttered. “If you think you already have too many people, don’t hire another. It’s as simple as that.”

“That sucks Lydia,” Barris said, looking at Cullen, silently pleading with him to say something. But Cullen was silent as Lydia walked to the kitchen and grabbed a water.  
“It’s alright,” she said, brushing it off. “There’s a million restaurants, a million retail jobs. I’ll go back to the drawing board later. For now though I’m going for a swim. I’ll be there if you need me. Also, I suggest we order pizza tonight.”

As she changed, both Rylen and Barris stared at Cullen, mumbling, and whispering, “tell her you idiot, tell her!” Cullen shushed them as Lydia came out moments later in her swimsuit and a towel, leaving the apartment in a quiet fury. The door shut, and Rylen and Barris stared with the intensity of a thousand knives.

“You can’t ask her to do something like that,” Barris said.

“Oh sure you can,” Rylen chipped in. “It’s just kind of a decorum thing.”

“A decorum thing?” Barris asked. “More like a normal person thing.”

“Well since when has Cullen been a normal person? I mean—”

“Don’t you both say that.”

Barris blinked, taken aback. Rylen was confused. “What’s the matter mate?” Rylen asked, coming over. “Why—?”

“Don’t you dare say that. I am normal,” Cullen demanded. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I was joking,” Rylen said. “We were joking. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—"

It seemed an awful lot like he wasn’t. It seemed an awful lot like Barris was serious too. But that was fine. Well, maybe not “fine,” but Cullen could handle that. There was something though, that he refused to handle. His roommates, Lydia, they were one thing. He refused to have his parents and his family go around thinking that he wasn’t normal. So help him, his family would not know the full truth of everything that happened.

And Lydia. She could help with that. Though he had to admit, Barris was right. He couldn’t simply ask Lydia to do something this utterly ridiculous. Maker, the whole thing sounded like some overused plot for a romantic movie he would refuse to watch solely on the principle of how ridiculous the plot was. Two people…pretending to be in a relationship? Two people, one reserved and cold, the other plucky and cheerful not getting along but going along with a charade so they didn’t look like fools?

At least he and Lydia weren’t complete enemies. No, they were roommates, and he didn’t hate her. She was tolerable, pretty. He liked her legs and her tan, and her big hair and blue eyes. Not enough to tempt him though. She was enough though, to let his family know, he was all right, and happy. She was good enough to let his family know he had a pretty good game.

Good enough. That was a terrible thing to think about a woman. Or anyone. But she was a way to let them know, he had bounced back. Because so many ex templars didn’t.

Rylen and Barris were shaking their heads. His mind though, was made up. He would ask. And if she said no, well. He supposed there were worse things.

 

* * *

 

Lydia Trevelyan, student of literature at Kirkwall University, former mage of the Ostwick Circle, disgraced girlfriend of a certain Asher Jenassen, fan of musicals, and one-time (or two time, if you called the show in the apartment with Mia a performance) actress, had a new thing to add to her resume. As of that evening, she was a laid off waitress at a steak house.

The day began disastrously. Cullen or Rylen or Barris, but frankly it was probably Cullen, had used up all the hot water in the morning, and she was treated to an icy shower. The bus was late, so she was late to work, and she was in such a foul mood that turning on her happy face was near impossible. The final straw was when one costumer kindly informed her that her disposition was forced, and she should consider looking to “sunnier skies.” Sure, Lydia probably should not have informed the woman that that was the most ridiculous thing she ever heard, but at least she did it with a smile. Another forced smile, sure, but a smile. Then her manager took her to the back room and kindly informed her he was laying her off.

“Not because of this,” Jowan said. “But it didn’t help. We’re just overfull right now, and…yeah. Though I do suggest you try to keep in mind that being a waiter or waitress is all about acting.”

“I am a wonderful actress!” Lydia said, indignant and frankly, insulted.

“Then why can’t you pretend you want to be here?”

At the time, Lydia had no answer. But she was hit with what the Orlesians called _l’esprit d’escalier_ as she was sitting on the bus home, and everything she should have said at the time hit her like bricks. Being an actress or actor, it meant wanting to feel it in the moment, and Lydia simply did not want to “feel it” with entitled patrons who expected to be handed silver platters and eat with silver forks. Performing though? That was different. She always wanted to feel it, when she was on the stage.

She checked her phone after, and sank even lower. The Flickered Lights, a production group based out of Ostwick, had finally opened their production of _Macbeth_. A beautiful production, by all accounts. And she was not there to be part of it.

“Out, out, damn spot,” she said to no one, sitting at the edge of the pool with her feet in the water. “Out, out…”

“Out what?”

She heard Cullen approach before he spoke. She knew it was him too due to the shuffling feet. “Damn spot,” she replied, sinking into the water and remaining there for a few moments. She watched her hair dance around her and opened her eyes to the blurry underwater world before hoisting herself up. She then leaned against the edge of the pool, blinking at Cullen. He peered down at her and looked just as contemplative as she was depressed and annoyed.

“Thanks for coming to see me,” she said. “But I’m fine.”’

“I wasn’t coming to see you.”

She considered dragging him in the pool. Or at the very least, splashing him.

“No, I mean…ugh.” At least he had the decency to blush and scratch the back of his neck. “That’s not what I meant. It came out wrong.”

“I want stuffed crust pizza,” she said, kicking off the cement of the pool and swimming away. She swam hard, the burn in her legs a welcome relief. She swam to the edge and when she came up for air, she found Cullen again.

“Why did you follow me?” she asked.

He sighed. “I need to talk to you. There’s…something I want to ask. And also, I wanted to say I was sorry. For what happened at work. Truly.”

She plopped on the steps. “It’s fine,” she said. “Didn’t like working there anyway.”

“I uh…I don’t know how to tell you this, but…”

She got out of the pool, raising her eyebrows at him. She wished he would just say it, the cat getting his tongue routine was getting irritating. “Tell me what?” she asked, trying to hold back her annoyance to go to sunnier skies.

He took a long moment. She remained, dripping wet as he looked at their feet. “Ugh—”

“Cullen. Come on.”

“Mia came to work today. To the university.”

“Oh, did she now?” Lydia asked, not sure what that had to do with anything. “Well that’s good to hear. I hope you were nice to her.”

“She convinced me I should go to the wedding.”

“You should go. That is your family.”

“She’s letting me take Cleo.”

“Great.” Lydia said. “Well, like I said earlier, I suggest wait a week before you tell her we decided to part ways, and—”

“I can’t go without you.”

Earnestness. It wasn’t how outlandish the whole thing was, pretending to be his girlfriend for the sake of his family, but it was the earnestness that struck Lydia like lightning. The vulnerability. But it wasn’t really like lightning, she realized. It was like a candlelit glow. Soft and subtle, but noticeable. Maybe more dangerous than the lighting. However powerful lightning was, it was brief and gone after an instant. The candlelit had the potential to burn for days, and days. It was a little…disconcerting.

His crestfallen expression was disconcerting too. She had seen him vulnerable before, but it was under the mask of hostility and belligerence. He didn’t want her part of his world. That’s why he hid it whenever he was vulnerable for too long. But he wasn’t even trying to hide it now. His vulnerability shone right through, right down to his downcast eyes, blushing cheeks, hand through his hair, and eyes that were some place else.

The past. That’s where he wanted to be. The past with his family were nothing hurt and everything was beautiful.

She knew. She understood. She felt the same way at times.

She sat down at one of the lounge chairs, waiting for him to say something. Slowly he followed, sitting at a chair adjacent from her. He regarded her. She was still soaking wet from the pool. He was still vulnerable.

“You can go without me, you know.” she said at last, and she knew she should have said it sooner. “Cullen, your family doesn’t know me. And it’s for a wedding. Your brother wants you there, not some girl he’s never met.”

“Mia really likes you,” he offered feebly.

“And I really like her, but do I really belong there?”

“As my girlfriend you do. And hey, it’s only for two weeks at most. We only have to pretend for two weeks.”

“I am a wonderful actress,” she said, sadly, before glancing at him. “But you’re not. You’re going to have to take some sort of classes or something.”

“Noted.”

Silence. Still so vulnerable.

“Tell me something,” she said. “If I were to do this…and I am not saying I am…why do you want me there so much? Why is it so important for your family to think you and are in a relationship?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe it’s stupid. I don’t know, but—"

“Put things in perceptive for me?” She asked.

“Well…” He leaned back, contemplated. “Well,” he went on. “I was thinking about steps one takes in life. See, I’m almost twenty-six, and when your twenty-six, typically normal people are in relationships, right?”

“First of all, not necessarily. I’m twenty-three and I feel much more normal now that I’m single.”

“What was your ex like?”

She didn’t like where the conversation went. “He was brunette, and his eyes were brown,” she said, throwing him a small bone.

He frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“How about we drop this?”

It was noted. “Fine.”

“I do have a second point though,” she said, bringing things back on track. “No one is really normal. At all. Normal is a word stupid people made up as an excuse to hate people who’re different.”

“It’s also a word doctors use when you have a condition or disorder.”

“The point is,” she said, eyes narrowing. “The word is overrated in the sense that we are talking about it. And why would you want to be ‘normal,’ anyway? Normal is boring.”

“It’s not boring,” Cullen insisted. “It’s all right. It’s fine. It’s good. Healthy.”

She didn’t want to argue philosophy anymore. “Fine, whatever,” she said. “But Cullen, this whole thing… It’s…”

“Ridiculous I know. I know. I’m selfish for asking you to do this. But I want my family to know that I’m fine. That I’m not weird, or unclean, or—”

“Unclean?” The word choice, it struck her by it’s unusualness.

“Never mind,” he snapped, in such a way that let her know the subject was dropped. “I want them to know I’m doing the normal things, you know. Like getting in a relationship, settling down…”

“Are you just jealous your little brother is getting married before you?”

“No!” he said. “No! But…ugh…”

He covered his eyes. He was positively distraught. Distraught with the whole stupid situation, distraught with even being ridiculous enough to ask something this inane. And Lydia wondered. Who told him that being normal was so important, that he would have to go to these lengths to preserve it?

“I want them to know that I’ve been happy,” he finally said. “I’ve done them so wrong, but they need to know I’m all right. Before I became a templar, before I left for the monastery, all Mom said she wanted was for me to be happy. That’s probably why she finally caved and let me go. She had to convince dad you know, and it took forever. But I finally got to go, be a templar. I finally got to learn how to protect people, just like I always wanted.”

Judging by the fact that he was an ex-templar, that whole thing didn’t seem to work out.

“Fuck the templars, right?” Cullen asked, as if on cue. “That worked out so well for me.”

“Life doesn’t work out the way we expect it too sometimes,” Lydia said. She would know too. She thought breaking from the Circle, living with Asher would make her happy. It didn’t.

That though, wasn’t the point. The point was she understood. “Cullen. Happiness isn’t…”

“Please be my girlfriend.”

She stared. “ _No_.”

His face fell. “That…fine. All right. I understand. I—”

“I will _pretend_ to be your girlfriend,” she clarified. “Actually being your girlfriend would require a lot more. We will go to this wedding together, and I will tell your family we are in a relationship, when we are in fact, just roommates. But I will do it on one condition.”

“No kissing?”

“Well, that’s a given. But, there was something else. Get on one knee.”

Puzzled, he still did as she asked. Begrudgingly, but he did it.

She extended her hand. “Take it,” she ordered.

“Lydia…what is this for?”

“I enjoy seeing templars on their knee. That’s all. No…no…do not get that look. I’m joking.”

He rolled his eyes. Her hand was so small, compared to his.

“I want you to make a promise,” she began, clearing her throat. “When we are alone, we will be cordial and respectful with one another, and act merely as roommates are supposed to act. When we are around your family, we will still be respectful and do only what we need to do to maintain the ruse. When we go back home, we will wait a while before informing your family we broke up. Also, you will take acting lessons.”

“Noted,” he said, his hand still holding hers. “But Lydia? Why did you want me on my knee for this?”

“I’m not done yet,” she informed him. “I want you to propose to me.”

“We’re not getting married,” he pointed out, indignant.

“This is a business arrangement,” she said. “Sure, I’m agreeing to this because I frankly have nothing better to do, now that I’m laid off and all. But frankly Mr. Rutherford, as I said before, in reality you would have to do a lot more to be my boyfriend. So give me this.” So help her Maker, if she was in a pediment like this again, where someone was asking her to be her girlfriend, so help her it would be done properly.

“Ask me nicely,” she ordered. “Please.”

“Lydia, will you please pretend to be my girlfriend?”

“Once again, with feeling,” she commanded. “Remember. Acting. Acting like you love me is important. And my full name is Lydia Rowena Theodosia Trevelyan. Say it that way.”

“Why is this so important?”

“Do I need to remind you how ridiculous this whole situation is? I will do this the way you want it if you do it the way I want it.”

“Alright, fine. Point taken.” He cleared his throat. “Lydia Rowena Theodosia Trevelyan. Will you please do me the honor of pretending to be my girlfriend?”

She made him wait. Partially because for all the shit he had already put her through, and for all the shit he was going to put her through, partially because there was something nice about seeing him with his heart on his sleeve kneeling before her. Even if he was being a stubborn ass about it. Such a big hand with long digits worn from a life in the templars holding her delicate hand he had. Such a color of eyes, amber in the evening sun. Golden blonde hair aflame, and a T-shirt with the band Journey’s logo on it fitting him snugly. He had really big shoulders. He had a complexion tanned from the summer sun. He had a face lined with shadows, forehead with premature lines from something or other. It made him more handsome, because it made him more vulnerable and human.

“I will pretend to be your girlfriend, Cullen Rutherford,” she promised. And feeling inspired by his shirt, she began to sing, she would do it anyway he wanted it, anyway he needed it. She hoped she made Steve Perry proud.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thanks. So much.”

Her hand felt still strangely warm when he finally let go, rising off the ground, back to the apartment. He said he would order the pizza. He said he would make sure the crust was stuffed.

“Extra pepperoni too,” Lydia muttered. “And sausage. Yeah.”

She felt hot. She needed to cool off, swim some more, so she told him she would meet him inside later. Then she remembered one more thing.

“By the way,” she said, dipping her feet in the water. “A reminder. I am not your babe.”

She jumped back into the pool and jumped into her new role. And so help her Maker, she would play that role damn, fucking well.

Out out damned spot indeed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

Out of all the things in the world Cullen could not fathom, why Lydia detested being called “babe” was relatively low on the list of his personal “what the fucks” in the world. It was however, one what the fuck he could get an answer for. So, sitting at the kitchen table before turning on his laptop, he asked.

“There is nothing wrong with it, per se,” Lydia said, sprawled on the couch after her shower, eating a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. “It’s just not something I like. Doesn’t have any romance.”

“It is short for baby,” Rylen pointed out. “So many songs have “baby” in them, and you seem to like those.”

Judging by the songs she sang under her breath, that was true enough.

“Well, ‘baby,’ is a placeholder,” Lydia said. “When Taylor Swift sings “baby” in her songs it’s just accepted as a placeholder for Jake or Tom, or whoever the hell her other exes were. I don’t know why I used her as an example, I really don’t like Taylor Swift, but that’s that.”

“What’s wrong with Taylor Swift?” Rylen asked, genuinely puzzled.

“She reminds me of the other blondes I used to know when I was younger. The ones that claimed they loved everyone, but how dare a little chubby brown girl sit with them.”

Cullen looked from the screen. “You were chubby?”

Lydia rolled her eyes at Cullen’s question. “Pleasantly plump sure…but does it matter? None of this matters. “Baby” is fine, acceptable, but “Babe…” I just don’t like, so please…”

She shoved her spoon in her ice cream. “Do not call me that.”

Cullen nodded. “Noted.”

“So what do you like?” Rylen asked, drifting over to the back of the couch.

“Anything romantic really, or idiosyncratic. Not that it matters. We can talk about it later.”

“Still can’t believe you’re doing this.”

Since Cullen and Lydia emerged from the pool, Rylen pumped his fist in support, while Barris shook his head in disdain. More so at Cullen than Lydia, who he kept calling a saint. He also kept asking her if she really wanted to do it, to which she always said yes. Yes she wanted, and yes she was sure.

This time was no different. “I lost my job. I have nothing better to do over the summer. Sure. I’ll be Cullen’s ‘girlfriend,’ why not?” she made little quotation marks in the air as she spoke, before going back to her ice cream.

“Hey Rutherford, you going to pay her?”

Cullen hadn’t considered. “What? Uh…?”

Barris didn’t relent. “Well, are you?”

Cullen didn’t know what to reply, and he certainly didn’t know what to say to Lydia, who had shot up, peering at him from the couch.

“You didn’t ask him about getting payed?” Barris asked.

“Actually, no,” Lydia admitted. “So. Cullen, will you pay me?”

“I…yes. Yes. I’ll pay you,” he said, though Maker knew how he was going to do it. He made enough money to easily pay his part of the rent, pay for food and pay for Cleo’s needs, but he wasn’t sure what was going to happen when he told Meredith. Especially after the stunt he pulled that day by walking out of her class.

“That was a little hesitant there, mate,” Rylen noted.

Exasperated, Cullen told everyone in the apartment that he would pay for Lydia’s airfare to and back, and he would also get her anything she needed. Barris though, suggested that Lydia should be the one that set the payment.

“How about you pay my rent?” Lydia offered. “For a few months. This whole thing kind of puts my job hunt on hold, and then I won’t have to worry about it, you know?”

“Reasonable,” Cullen commented. “I believe I can—”

“How about a year?”

Cullen really wished Barris would go to bed. “Six months?” he asked, hoping Lydia would understand.

“Reasonable,” she said.

Barris crossed his arms. “This whole thing really isn’t reasonable at all.”

“That’s what makes it so fun,” Rylen said, going over and getting an extra slice of pizza. “I’m sorry I can’t be there to see how this all goes down.”

“What are you going to tell Meredith?” Barris asked. “Maker, when are you going to tell Meredith?”

“Tomorrow,” Cullen replied.

Barris shook his head. “She won’t like this.”

“She hardly likes anything,” Cullen said. “At all.”

“She really won’t like this.”

Cullen shrugged, haphazard as it was. “Maybe with this she’ll understand?”

“Doubt it mate,” Rylen commented.

For a little while, Cullen chose to believe she would. He chose to believe that Meredith would understand everything.

 

* * *

 

 

 

She didn’t.

“First you walk out of my lecture, then you demand you be given two weeks off? Insolent boy.”

Against his better judgement he recoiled. He felt so small, and it didn’t help that Meredith had the biggest office space in the building—maybe even the full university, or the space between her and him was expansive. He was at least two and a half feet apart from her, but even so, she knew exactly how to crawl her way through to him, to his own personal space. And he needed his personal space. Needed it bad. His skin crawled, his heart beat too fast. It was too much like how it was before.

“What’s the matter boy?” she demanded. “Why are you breathing so hard?”

“Hot in here, that’s all,” he said, though he was sure it was just his own crawling skin. “Really hot, yeah.” His throat was constricting. “Do you think I can open the door?” he asked.

“A crack.”

He got up and cracked the door. It alleviated some of his issues. Not all.

Meredith was steely as ever. “Why did you leave yesterday?” she demanded. “You lived through it. It wasn’t as if you didn’t know what happened.”

“I know I lived through it,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Then why did you leave?”

“Because—because…”

He couldn’t tell her. He didn’t rightly know himself, how just mentioning that something happened could make his palms sweat and his heart beat a million miles a minute. He didn’t know why whenever he was forced to remember, he also remembered that there was a burn in his throat, and it wouldn’t go away…not ever. Not so long as he remained off the lyrium. And Meredith, she talked to him before about that, demanded to know why he was being so inane and stupid in not taking it. He couldn’t tell her it was the only way he could control his life. At least a little bit.

“What fully happened in that cage Cullen?”

He made a fist. “I saw my friends die.”

“What more Cullen?”

“The demon tried to break my mind.”

“What else boy?”

“And I was the only one left alive.”

She never so much as blinked. “Why won’t you stand and tell them all what happened?”

“Because no one should go through what I went through.”

“But you went through it so others could know the dangers that mages always pose for us. What you went through serves it’s purpose, and let’s everyone else know why mages must be kept on a leash.”

“Like animals,” he muttered, though he was the man that hardly even put his dog on a leash half the time.

“What else do you propose we do?” Meredith asked. “Let them run free? Let what happened in Kinloch happen everywhere else? This is why we are needed, why we templars are necessary.”

“I am one no longer.”

He stubbornly held onto that fact, through moments like these, he wasn’t sure anymore. Meredith shaking her head at him, didn’t make him believe he could be more than what the chantry first taught him, and what they continuously drove into his head at Greenfell. Everyone except Sister Agnes. She believed.

On his last day there in the garden, she told him he would be happy again, someday. And now at last, Cullen knew a way.

“I have to go to my family Meredith. For those two weeks, I have to be there.”

“We have no family when we take our vows. We serve the Maker and Andraste.”

“But how can the Maker be so cruel, in forcing us away from what reminds us of what we are supposed to protect?”

For that, Meredith had no answer. She had only her cruel and icy gaze. Did she have no family? No reminders? He didn’t know. Of her own life she never spoke. Perhaps the templars were her only life.

There was no perhaps.

But there was for Cullen.

“I do have a family,” he said, rising. “I served the Maker, and I served Andraste, but I made a promise and I will not break it.”

“You made a promise the day you sat your vigil, boy.”

He was a boy, before he was a templar. He had a family before he had anything the templars gave him.

“I have to go,” he stated. “I will.”

“Go then. See if you’ll be welcome back after this. See if I will have any sympathy for you when you come clawing back, demanding I give you the lyrium.”  
She didn’t rise as he left. He felt her gaze on his back as he left the office, out to the courtyard. His throat burned, his mind raced. He would fall asleep that night and be back there. Meredith’s words wouldn’t relent. He hardly prayed to the Maker anymore, but he prayed then. He prayed her grim prediction would not come true.

“Rutherford.”

Cullen scowled at Samson. “Go away,” he hissed.

“Meredith in her office?”

“No.”

He looked like he hadn’t showered when Cullen saw him last, which was bad enough. He appeared then as if he had rolled around in dirt, which was even worse. Even worse was when he came closer, came to Cullen’s personal space. He could see every pore on Samson’s face.

“Leave me,” Cullen said. “I am not going to tell you anything you don’t already know.”

“We’re one in the same, Rutherford,” Samson said. “Want to see your future? Look at me now. You know…Meredith is right. You’ll come clawing back.”

“You were…there?”

Samson smirked. “I heard. You know it’s the truth. Know that—”

“Go away.”

He remained. “It’s no use. I know you still have your kit. Take it. You know you can hear it…know that—”

“Go away,” Cullen hissed again, frustration mounting. “Samson…go away.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

Lydia?

Cullen blinked when he saw her, pointing at Samson. Fire was in her eye. “Leave him alone now,” she demanded. “Get out of his personal space.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Samson demanded. “You think you can take me on?”

“You look like you’ve been rolling around in grease. Of course I can take you on.”

“Ha! Would like to see you try little girl, you—”

“I am not a little girl you ass—”

“Enough!”

When Meredith arrived, stepping between Samson and Cullen, Lydia too recoiled, backing away. “Leave now,” she demanded of Samson. He obeyed, but made his disgust known, spitting on the ground before sauntering off. Then she turned her attention to Cullen. Daggers were in the cold blue, blue the color of lyrium.

She turned to Lydia. “And who are you?” sshe demanded

“I…I am Lydia.”

“There is something strange about you,” Meredith noted. “You are very bold, or very stupid to stand between two fully grown men. Unless you have a weapon.”

“Cullen is my friend,” she said evenly. “I wouldn’t see him hurt.”

“How very noble of you.”

“How noble of you to step in, Knight Commander. It would be very nice still, if you allowed us a moment alone, to speak.”

“Watch where you tread, little girl.”

It was a warning. Yet if Lydia understood or not, her gaze did not waver.

“I always do.”

Cullen waited until Meredith was back inside the building to take her arm and pull her aside from the building over the courtyard’s fountain. “Lydia!” he exclaimed. “You shouldn’t have spoken to her like that! You shouldn’t even have stepped in in the first place!”

“Cullen, that very unfortunate looking man clearly made you uncomfortable.”

“But he’s…”

“A man?” she demanded. “And I’m a woman and I couldn’t have helped?”

“Maker, that’s not what I meant.”

“I understand your chivalry,” she said, “but I would have been fine had anything happened.”

“How? Do you have a weapon?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

It appeared she wanted it dropped. For the sake of not saying anything else stupid or ridiculous or offensive, Cullen did as she wanted. “Lydia,” he began again, after taking a deep breath, “I really do thank you, but…”

“We can drop the whole thing. I take it Meredith wasn’t very supportive?”

“No,” he admitted. “Doesn’t matter. It’s done now.”

Her eyes were a different blue than Meredith’s. Like a sea and not lyrium. There was a moment he forgot he craved it, when he looked into Lydia’s eyes.

“Who was that man anyway?” she wondered, breaking the silence.

“Samson. Ex-templar.”

“Hope he won’t be a problem for you later.”

“He’s toothless. Doubt it.”

By the look on her face, Cullen didn’t think she was so sure. It was no matter. Samson was near useless. Cullen just hoped he wasn’t a reflection of his future.

Lydia sighed, shuffling her feet. “Anyway…I came to go to the bursar’s. I need to get on that.”

“Right, okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll see you at the apartment?”

“See you at the apartment.”

As he left, he remembered how she called him her “friend.”

Lydia cursed herself before she went to the bursar’s office, during the waiting period at the bursar’s office, and then after as she left the building knowing she would have a shit load of a lot of student loans to pay off some day. She should have cursed her own stupidity for engaging with Meredith rather than simply minding her own business, as most people in the world did. Lydia Trevelyan, however, wasn’t most people. Neither was Meredith Stannard. She was grade A, where the A stood for “awful.” That woman was every stereotype of what a bad gym teacher was like, coupled and exemplified with the air of a prison guard. Her blue eyes were eerily pale and worse than ice, and she was already imposing in her black pantsuit. Her in her templar uniform would be ten times worse. Perhaps if she wasn’t so lucky, Lydia would get to see her in her templar uniform, while she remained trapped and locked in the Gallows. Lydia heard the horror stories, the rites of tranquility. She knew, that if circumstances were different, if she was from Kirkwall instead of Ostwick and sent to the Gallows, she would have never escaped. Asher. He would have been like Samson.

Shit. For all she knew, he was. She broke of contact with him and moved to Kirkwall for a reason, after all. Perhaps had things not gone so horribly she could have stayed in Ostwick. Wouldn’t have had to deal with Meredith, or become Cullen’s “girlfriend” if Asher would have just loved her like he said he did. Sometimes she thought back to those times, and even Cullen’s half assed acting was more convincing than all the times Asher told her he loved her.

Asher. What was he doing then? Was he still on lyrium? Was he as bad as Samson? Part of her that still remained convinced their love was real. She hoped he was doing well. Truly she could wish no ill will to him, he was such a part of her life for so long.

But she had a new life now. She didn’t want to live in the past. She learned a long time ago it was no good to remember the voices of her mother, telling her she was loved. Neither her father either, who...

Shit.

“Lydia…Lydia…”

Strange. She thought she heard him then, Asher. His voice was always so deep, like caramel. But he wouldn’t have been there…not as she was thinking of him. That was preposterous. That was—

“Woman!”

She shrieked. She thrashed. She was in the bushes, with someone else. In the bushes on the ground, her butt in the dirt ruining her nice dress. And she was with—

“Hey Lydia! Took me forever to find you.”

_No. No. No. No—_

“Asher,” Lydia said. “Asher.”

He smiled. “Hey there babe. Nice to see you again.”


End file.
